


Spellbound

by Tiger_Tiger_Burning_Bright



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec will only appear half way through, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curses, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Grief, I mean seriously angsty in places, Magic, Mentions of Character Death, Parent Magnus Bane, Possesion, True Love, Warlock Magnus Bane, Young Magnus Bane, adult Magnus, asmodeus loved his mother very much, everyone else is human, magnus bane clary fray and Simon lewis friendship, magnus centric fic, magnus is adopted by cat and ragnor, policeman Alec lightwood, practical magic based au, teen Magnus, this is more about magnus, very slow burn malec, warlock Ragnor Fell, warlock catarina loss, you have been warned ;-)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14160228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiger_Tiger_Burning_Bright/pseuds/Tiger_Tiger_Burning_Bright
Summary: A modern fairytale about magic, family and friendship, love, loss and acceptance.  About how, when you least expect it, you may find the one thing you never thought you could, a place to belong and a love that defies all obstacles.Or the ‘Practical Magic’ AU





	1. Comfrey

**Author's Note:**

> So I must be mad - another multi chapter.....  
> I have wanted to write a purely Magnus Bane fic for the longest time and watching my guilty pleasure film practical magic gave me this idea. I've changed thing more than a little as the original film was based around 2 sisters and instead this is just Magnus so I hope it works ok.  
> Alec will appear at some point but it will be towards the end so please be aware...hopefully it will be worth it.
> 
> Each chapter will be named after a plant or herb so for chapter one we have Comfrey - symbolising home sweet home.
> 
> Anyway here goes....*bites nails anxiously*

_**Comfrey - 'home sweet home'** _

 

The house stood on the only hill on the island looking over the streets and the people who lived in the town below would say that the old building was silently judging them all. It had been the first home built on the island and the locals had no doubt that it would be the last place standing. When every other building had been reclaimed by nature they knew that the house on the hill would still be standing strong, stubbornly unwilling to give into the ravages of time.

The house was old and crumbling, its white paintwork flaking off in places, seeming more like a patchwork than a house where bits had been added over the years. The different rooms, apparently added without any apparent care or plan, seemed to prop each other up like a real life house of cards. Despite its appearance, the house was as immovable as time itself. When the winter storms hit, other houses would loose tiles or guttering would come loose, but the house on the hill was never damaged in the slightest.

The garden was overgrown and filled with plants from all corners of the globe and the wisteria and vines that grew up the front veranda seemed to hold the whole place together. On the back of the house a large victorian style glasshouse leant heavily against the clapperboard walls, its glass, slightly green in places from age, seemingly immune to breaking or cracking. The wizened trees in the garden always appeared to be filled with birds nests in the spring, as if every local bird knew instinctively that the house and its land was somehow the safest place to raise their young. What made it stranger was the garden was home to a motley collection of stray cats who largely ignored the young wildlife that surrounded them and instead basked in the sun on the porch and wandered in and out of the house at will.

All of this was strange enough but it wasn't any of those things that made the townsfolk talk in hushed whispers and cross to the other side of the road rather than walk past the lane that led up to the house. No, the thing that the townsfolk talked about when they met up in the local shops was the people who lived in the house on the hill.

Over the centuries the house had been called home by a famously eclectic selection of people, seemingly drawn from all over the globe. The current residents were no different.

If you had been asked to find two people more different than Catarina Loss and Ragnor Fell, you would have been hard pushed to find an odder pair. Where Catarina was always smiling, Ragnor was rarely seen without a scowl on his face, Catarina’s skin was like flawless dark mahogany whilst Ragnor was as pale as snow and whilst Catarina always tried to engage with the locals, apparently immune to how they shunned her, Ragnor kept himself to himself.

Ordinarily the townsfolk would have embraced Catarina as one of their own, inviting her to bake sales and barbecues, after all, as a nurse in one of the hospitals on the mainland she was clearly a responsible professional. Ragnor, even with his dour ways, would've been beloved by the locals. His British accent and his tendency to dress immaculately in tweed on even the hottest summer days would undoubtedly have won him a following amongst the older ladies.

But things on the island were not ordinary and everyone knew the reason why the pair lived in the house on the hill. The distant cousins, for that’s what they were, were drawn to the house as descendants of the woman who built the it three hundred years ago, Tessa Gray.

Over hundreds of years many stories had grown up around Tessa Gray, each more elaborate and far fetched than the next, but one thing was undoubtedly true. Tessa Gray was a witch and every one of her descendants that lived in her house were witches and warlocks too.

So the residents of the island avoided the curious cousins, afraid of the power they held, a power beyond what was normal. When the cousins came into the small town, the locals would pull their children out of the way and hurry home, frightened to make eye contact, or perhaps more accurately, afraid of what their neighbours would say if they saw them talking to Catarina or Ragnor.

No one would admit that they had ever visited the house on the hill but, for many, that would be a lie. If your child was sick and the doctor could find no cure you would find yourself scrabbling at the glass paned back door of the strange house begging for Catarina’s help. If your husband strayed or if you suffered the the pangs of unrequited love, you would find yourself enduring the withering looks of Ragnor as you handed over your hard earned cash to receive the potion that would cure your woes.

Such was life on the island, and things continued largely as they always had until one cold February night when a new arrival set the locals nattering like a gaggle of geese. A week later and the locals were still talking as they huddled together in the local store, hiding from the winter storm that was lashing the island, hoping for a break in the rain before running to their cars and driving home.

“Have you seen him?” Mrs Blackwell  stage whispered excitedly to her good friend Laura Pangbourne as the ladies gazed out into the rain sodden streets. Behind them their children ran riot amongst the aisles laden with all the everyday essentials a person could need.

Hearing their conversation, a few other locals casually made their way towards the ladies, likely in the hope for more gossip on their new arrival. Nothing much happened on the island so any news of change was seized upon with a hunger not dissimilar to a shoal of piranhas coming across fresh meat.

“No, but from what I heard the boy is all the way from Indonesia of all places,” Mrs Pangbourne replied, the raising of her eyebrows accentuating her shock at the news.

A low hum of chatter filled the shop as the locals discussed this latest piece of information. They’d known of course the boy was not from nearby, his tawny skin and dark triangular eyes, combined with his clothing which was far to flimsy for a North American winter, had been somewhat of a giveaway after all. Indonesia though sounded like a world away from their small insular island and the most kind-hearted of them wondered how a little boy of barely eight years old had coped with such a long and arduous journey.

“Well it seems _they_ get everywhere,” Emily Blackwell replied, her nose scrunched in disgust, and of course everyone knew exactly what kind of people she was talking about because the little boy now lived in the house on the hill.

The door to the shop swung open, caught by the howling wind, and clanged loudly as it hit the wall but the gathered crowds were so intent on their conversation they didn't notice the family that entered.

“You would think it’s bad enough to have two of them, but now a third. Honestly, it’s too much,” Old Mr Finch complained loudly and there was a murmur of agreement over the crowd.

“Albert Finch you had better not be talking about who I think you are.”

It was only when the woman spoke that the crowds truly acknowledged the new people in the shop. The woman took down her hood and her red hair fell over her shoulders, slightly frizzy from the rain. As she glared at the gossips, one hand rested on her hip and the other held the hand of a small girl who was almost a miniature version of her mother. Behind her stood her husband, a dark skinned man who was rarely seen without a smile on his face, who folded his arms across his chest, and whilst his brow was furrowed seriously, his eyes danced with amusement at the shock on the faces of the locals.

“Now Jocelyn, even you must admit that the people in that house are strange,” Laura Pangbourne snapped, unwilling to be talked down to by Jocelyn Garroway-Fray of all people. Granted, she may be the local sheriff's wife, but if the rumours were true she had run away from her first husband, who by all accounts was an abusive scoundrel, thus making her judgement flawed at best.

“I'm interested Mrs Pangbourne, have you ever met Catarina and Ragnor?” Luke Garroway asked, an ill conceived smirk on his lips, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

Sheriff Garroway had lived on the island with his wife Jocelyn for the last six years and had rapidly climbed the ranks in the local police department. People liked him, a man of great humour, keen wit and fair to almost a fault, and just the fact that he was taking issue with the conversation made some on the outskirts drift away. One thing the locals agreed on was that their sheriff had earned the respect of everyone despite his preference for casual dress rather than the usual obligatory beige uniform which he always joked made his deep brown skin look dull.

“Well no, but Emil saw the boy today and he was frightened half to death.” Mrs Pangbourne replied her lip pouting as she glanced across the room to where her son, a stocky dark skinned boy with tight curly hair, was currently chasing a smaller girl around the shelves intent on pulling her hair.

“Well Emil’s a bully, so it serves him right,” Jocelyn’s daughter Clary blurted out, her eyes glaring at the older woman.

Neither Jocelyn or Luke made any effort to chastise their daughter and a few people in the crowd even sniggered softly, leaving Laura Pangbourne wide eyed with embarrassment.

“I would suggest you give the poor boy a chance. He’s had enough hardship in his life already from what I hear.” Jocelyn snapped before turning smartly on her heel and dragging Clary behind her who was poking her tongue out at the crowds.

No one dared comment on the young girl’s rudeness as her stepfather Luke stood staring at them all as if daring anyone to say anything.

“Well, seeing as the rain has stopped, I would suggest that everyone takes the chance to get home before it all starts off again,” Luke suggested, not waiting for a response before following his wife.

With murmurs of agreement, the crowds grabbed their paper bags of purchases and hurried out of the store.

…………

In the house on the hill the source of all the speculation, a little boy named Magnus Bane, sat on the window seat watching the raindrops as they chased each other down the window pane. Beside him a small black cat, sensible enough to not risk the inclement weather, batted at the hem of the boy’s shirt.

“There you are.” Magnus turned around to see his aunt, Catarina approaching, a kind smile on her face and a mug of hot chocolate clutched in her hands. Magnus could see the marshmallows peaking over the top of the mug and his stomach grumbled in hunger.

He had only lived on the island for a week and his body still longed for the warmth of his homeland, for the bright sun that beat down on his family’s small house in the countryside. He knew it was a futile hope and with wisdom beyond his years had accepted that the life he had known was gone forever.

“I thought you might need this.” Catarina chuckled softly as she handed the mug over. Magnus grasped it gratefully, warming his hands on the sides and breathing in the comforting smell of cocoa.

Catarina settled down next to him, pausing briefly to pet the kitten.

“Well this little one is new too. I don't think I've seen him around here before,” she said as she tickled the kitten’s cheek making him purr loudly. “I think you should find him a name seeing as he likes you so much.”

“Can I?” Magnus looked up and smiled tentatively. Catarina nodded.

“Okay…” Magnus sipped his cocoa and tilted his head as he watched the kitten winding his way around Catarina’s hands. “I’ll call him Chairman Meow.”

Magnus wasn't sure where he’d heard the name, perhaps from his parents, and just the thought of them made him bury his face in his mug lest his aunt should seem him cry.

“That’s a good name Magnus,” Catarina said and slowly Magnus looked up, the smile returning to his lips as his aunt reached forward and brushed a smudge of cocoa off his nose. “Now then, why don't we get Chairman some food. Your Uncle Ragnor’s cooking and there’s bound to be some scraps he’ll like.”

Magnus chewed his lip in thought before picking up the small bundle of fluff and following his aunt to the kitchen.

“Bugger..” A loud crash sounded from the kitchen followed by some very colourful language and Magnus giggled.

“Uncle Ragnor said a rude word.”

“Oh Magnus we don't worry about silly things like that in this house.” Catarina ruffled his hair making him squint up at her in mock annoyance. “Words have power, don't get me wrong, but some of them just make you feel less angry.”

“Even cuss words?” Magnus looked at his aunt wide eyed..

“Especially those. Now come on, by the sounds of it your uncle’s dropped something and that means there’ll definitely be something for Chairman Meow to clean up.” Catarina winked as she pushed Magnus through the doorway.

Gently Magnus put the little kitten down on floor and watched in amusement as he scampered off in search of food. From behind the kitchen island his uncle stood up, smudges of flour on his face and his cheeks ruddy from the heat coming off the Aga. If the townsfolk had seen the famously intimidating Ragnor Fell at that moment, they would've scarcely believed their eyes. For one, Ragnor was smiling broadly, apparently not even bothered by the piles of saucepans stacked precariously on the worktop behind him, and secondly, his normal attire was covered with a large apron which instructed people that they should ‘Kiss the Cook’ in bold lettering.

“Magnus, grab a bowl and help yourself. A hearty stew is just the thing to ride out a storm, I always say.” With a flourish of his arm Ragnor indicated a large pot that was bubbling away on the hob, steam rising up towards the ceiling that seemed to dance.

………..

“So, first day of school tomorrow,” Ragnor observed as the trio sat around the antique dining table having finished their meal.

“Mmmm,” Magnus replied as he sneaked another piece of meat down to Chairman who had climbed up onto his lap during the course of dinner. The little cat had scaled Magnus’ leg without a care for how sharp his nails were but Magnus had barely flinched, just glad to have his new friend with him.

“I'm sure it’ll be fine Magnus,” Catarina said, instinctively picking up on the boy’s anxiety.

Magnus was brave, he knew what it was like to be seen as different. Even in the little village he’d grown up in people had whispered as he walked by and he’d grown accustomed to the looks that would be thrown in his direction. He had hoped that when he moved to the island that would change but only that day a group of boys had seen him in the garden and taken it upon themselves to point and call out to him. The words weren't new to him even if they weren't in his native tongue, his mother having made sure he knew English from an early age. He’d been called similar all his life, freak, weirdo, warlock, and now they had no power over him anymore.

“But they hate us, don't they?” Magnus blurted out, putting his confusion and worries into words without conscious thought.

“They don't hate us...it’s just..” Catarina began reaching across the table to place her hand over Magnus’ where it shook as he clutched his spoon tightly.

“They’re afraid of anything different. We have a gift that they don't and it terrifies them,” Ragnor added sitting back on his chair and reaching behind him for his favourite smoking pipe.

“Magic..” Magnus said. The one thing that had always set him apart, the thing that others called evil and wrong, and yet to him felt as natural as breathing. The shimmering power that wove itself through every piece of him and, despite what everyone said, felt as much a part of who he was as his very soul.

“Exactly that.” Ragnor seemed pleased with his answer as he sat back and sucked on his empty pipe, a habit he had acquired when he had attempted to give up smoking. Magnus felt a warm glow of pride run through him, happy that he’d given his uncle the right answer.

“Magic is our gift and it’s that self same magic that led us to you,” Ragnor said.

Magnus looked down at the bowl in front of him and swirled the last of his stew idly with his spoon as he mulled over his uncle’s words. All his life his father had told him that their magic was a curse and you should never ever use it, and yet if what his uncle said was true, it was magic that had changed his life.

“Poppa said magic was evil..” Magnus muttered under his breath, his young mind confused about the mixed messages he was getting.

He’d loved his father very much but if Uncle Ragnor was telling the truth, then it was magic that had brought his aunt and uncle to him when he thought all hope was lost. Every night he’d cried himself to sleep alone in his bunk in the rundown orphanage just outside of the bustling streets of Jakarta until they’d appeared and saved him from his fate. If magic had done that, it couldn't be evil, could it?

“Yes, well, I'm sure he did. Asmodeus was always a superstitious fool,” Ragnor said, the contempt evident in every word.

“Ragnor..” Catarina warned, and as Magnus glanced up through his eyelashes, he saw his aunt glaring at his uncle.

“No, the boy deserves to know the truth.” Ragnor slammed his spoon down on the table, a show of anger that made Magnus jump, reminding him a little too much of the staff at the orphanage who were often quick to shout and even faster with a slap.

“Magnus.” Ragnor’s words were softer now and Magnus dared to look up at his uncle to see him smiling softly at him. “Forgive me. I swear I’m not angry at you..”

Magnus swallowed down his fear and scanned his uncle’s face, and seeing nothing to be afraid of there, he plucked up the courage to speak.

“Okay.” His words were quiet and hesitant at first but as he began to speak again, he straightened himself up in his seat and spoke with more confidence. “Can you tell me about him, my poppa?”

“Of course. I know you don't know me very well yet but I promise you one thing, I will never lie to you, my boy.”

“Well in that case, I think this story calls for comfy sofas and chocolate cake.” Catarina rolled her eyes, knowing better than to argue with her stubborn cousin.

Which is how the trio found themselves curled up in the living room in front of a roaring fire, Catarina gently stroking Magnus’ hair, Chairman Meow curled up on his lap as Ragnor told him the tales of his family, of who he was and where he came from and, most importantly, of his parents’ fate.

 


	2. Rosemary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so....tragic family history ahead...you have been warned ;-)

**Rosemary for remembrance**

 

Whilst the townsfolk cowered in their houses as the storm raged around them, fearing for what damage it would reek on their homes, Magnus Bane and his aunt and uncle snuggled safely in the house on the hill as Ragnor began his tale.

“You need to understand Magnus, that for the last 300 years whenever anything has gone wrong people have always blamed our family and it all began with you ancestor, Tessa Gray,” Ragnor began, settling back in his favourite armchair, pipe in one hand and whisky glass in the other.

As he spoke, he gestured with the glass and Magnus couldn't drag his eyes away from the amber liquid inside it that swirled dangerously close to the lip of the glass and yet somehow never spilled.

Putting down his pipe, Ragnor retrieved an ancient-looking, carved wooden box from the coffee table and placed it reverentially on his lap, before carefully opening it. With his brows furrowed in concentration, he retrieved a miniature porcelain portrait from its depths. Carefully he handed it over to Magnus who looked up at his aunt for approval before taking it carefully, as if it were made of glass.

The portrait was tiny, little more than 3 inches across and the gilded frame was worn away in places but that wasn't what caught Magnus’ eye. The woman in it was painted looking wistfully to the side, her brown hair seeming to blow in the breeze and her eyes the grey of clouds before the rain and Magnus couldn't look away.

“That is our only painting of her,” Catarina said, as Magnus tentatively ran his finger along the contours of the woman’s face.

“She’s beautiful,” he sighed only dragging his eyes away from the picture when he heard his uncle laugh.

“Yes indeed, although I rather think that’s at least part of what caused her so much trouble.” Ragnor laughed as he placed the box back on the table and retrieved his drink.

Magnus didn't realise, as his uncle began to speak, that the story that Ragnor was about to tell would have a pivotal role in shaping the rest of his life. It wasn't so much that his uncle filled the story with vibrant detail and sharp commentary on the people in it, it was more than that.

Perhaps it was the story of Tessa herself that affected him so much, a woman shunned due to ignorance and fear. It was a story that almost seemed to Magnus’ young mind as something out of a fairytale. As he listened in rapt attention, Chairman Meow curled up half asleep and gently purring, he felt almost as if he were transported back in time.

If he closed his eyes he could practically see the crowds congregating to witness the hanging of the infamous witch, Tessa Gray. The women chatting together excitedly and the men, many of whom Tessa counted amongst her lovers, shuffling their feet uncomfortably and yet, unwilling to look away. As he looked down at the portrait in his hands, he could imagine Tessa staring defiantly out at the crowds as the hangman placed the noose around her neck, her hair gleaming and her grey eyes showing not the slightest hint of fear. Magnus held his breath as he pictured her stepping off the gallows, hands still tied behind her back.

Magnus felt his aunt pull him closer, her arm wound tightly around him as if she were trying to shield him from the harshness of the world. Blinking back his tears, he looked up at her kind face and, with a hint of a smile, she nodded her head towards Ragnor.

“Now then, don't worry,Magnus, a powerful thing happened and it was the thing that saved Tessa’s life and still protects us even now.” Ragnor smiled as Magnus anxiously chewed on his fingernails. “Tessa’s magic saved her that day, her hanging rope snapping as easily as if it was a strand of hair.”

Ragnor drained his whiskey glass as Magnus sighed in relief, relaxing into his aunt’s warm embrace.

“Can you imagine the look on the locals’ faces as she landed on the grass in front of them, not even a hair out of place.” Ragnor smiled and Magnus giggled softly because, yes of course he could. “I don't doubt they were beside themselves.”

“So what happened to her?” Magnus asked, his eyes wide.

“Well, what do you do with someone you can't kill?” Ragnor smiled and with a flourish of his hand his whiskey glass was full again, making Magnus gasp at how easily his uncle made his magic bend to his will. “They banished her, to this very island. I suspect they hoped that Mother Nature would do what they could not but they were fools to think so. The island wrapped her up in its embrace and she thrived, building this very house.”

Magnus stopped to look around the room he was sitting in, the mismatched furniture and ancient looking quilts that covered every chair, the pictures that covered every inch of wall. Everything around him was so different to every other piece and yet seemed to belong. It was as if everything in the house had a story to tell about the people who had lived there, as if the very walls had a life of their own and were as much a part of his strange little family as he was, if not more. He reached out with everything he had, all of his senses, feeling the need to understand his new home, and suddenly, he jumped at a strange sensation.

“You feel it, don't you?” Catarina laughed. “Don't worry, it won't hurt you.”

And he did, the energy that pulsed throughout the building seeming to tie everything together with its rainbow threads. He felt his magic reaching out as if winding its way into the building itself, joining with the magic of generations before him, a connection to those who’d lived here long before, and Magnus felt something he never had before. All his life he’d never known what it would feel like to belong, always feeling like he was standing outside of the world with his nose pressed up against the glass looking in, but here, in this small corner of the world, he felt at home.

“What you're feeling is what brings us here when we need safety,” Catarina explained and Magnus nodded solemnly, not needing his aunt to explain what his heart instinctively knew. “So if anyone tries to make you think you don't belong, just remember this house is exactly where you're meant to be.”

Magnus scrunched his brow as he thought more. The house on the hill was huge, even in the week he’d been here it felt he’d barely scratched the surface of its many nooks and crannies, but one thing didn't make sense.

His uncle looked at him with his piercing gaze as if he could read his very mind, which Magnus wouldn't be surprised if he could. Ragnor raised an eyebrow as if encouraging him to put his thoughts into words and that look alone gave Magnus the courage to find his voice. All his life he'd been told not to question, just obey, and yet here, surrounded with the sound of wood crackling gently on the fire and the subtle smell of chocolate cake mixed with jasmine from the plant in bloom on the mantelpiece filling the air, Magnus knew that he could give free reign to his enquiring mind that he’d always had to suppress before.

“You can ask anything you want here,” Catarina whispered, confirming his suspicions.

“Only a great fool is afraid to ask for fear of seeming stupid,” Ragnor agreed, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Did my poppa ever come here?” It was the question burning in his mind. Now that he’d experienced the deep connection to the house, the pull that he’d felt deep in his gut all his life suddenly made sense and it was hard to believe that his father hadn't felt it too. The house was large too, more than enough room for many people to live in, only seeing each other if they really wanted to. If the house had offered him its protection so readily, why would it not have done the same for his father?

“When he was a young man, yes,” Ragnor replied, watching Magnus carefully over the rim of his glass as he sipped his drink, as if he knew what the young boy would ask next.

“But he left….” Magnus furrowed his brow as Ragnor nodded for him to continue. “Why?”

“Ah now, there’s the question…” Ragnor hummed contentedly. Catarina rolled her eyes as if fed up with him being so cryptic.

Gently she turned Magnus to look at her and took over the story.

“What Ragnor hasn't told you is what happened after they left Tessa on the island and that, my love, may help explain,” Catarina began.

As Magnus listened intently, Catarina told of how Tessa had struggled to survive, spending her days building the house and growing what plants she could in the garden surrounding it. How, every day, she would wander down to the seashore, picking her way down past the rough granite cliffs that surrounded the island to scavenge for muscles and cockles to eat. There were times, Catarina told him, that she imagined that Tessa must have been close to giving up, letting the sea reclaim her and draw her into its unforgiving depths. But Tessa Gray was strong, and there was one thing the hanging committee hadn't known, not that it would in all likelihood have swayed their decision. Tessa was pregnant. The thought of her innocent child, growing inside her, kept her fighting through the dark hours as the autumn turned to winter.

Catarina spoke of how Tessa waited patiently for her lover to come and rescue her, her faith that the man she loved would surely come, never wavering. He never did. As the realisation dawned on her that she had been truly abandoned, Tessa’s heart shattered into a billion pieces, and in her desperation she cast a spell on herself that she would never fall in love again, never feel the pain that clawed at her insides.

“But words have power, Magnus, and sometimes when they are spoken out loud, they twist into something that you never meant and can never take back.” Ragnor, who had been silent up until this point, joined in the story. Magnus spun round to look at him, a single solitary tear falling down his cheek as he thought of the beautiful woman in the portrait, alone and heartbroken, staring out into the sea, praying for someone who would never come. “Tessa became more resentful as the years passed and the wish she made gained power, transforming from a simple spell to a curse. And so it is that anyone who loves someone of Tessa’s bloodline will surely die.”

“Ragnor please, you know the curse is just a story.” Catarina spoke softly, rubbing her hand gently up and down Magnus’ arm.

“And you know it’s not. How do you explain what happened to my Raphael?” Ragnor practically growled, his knuckles turning white where he held his glass so tightly.

“It was an accident,” Catarina replied and Ragnor huffed in disagreement.

“You don't believe that anymore than I do. Funny that you've never got yourself involved with anyone,” Ragnor fired back.

“That’s not the reason,” Catarina began. “It’s only that I'm concentrating on my work right now and..”

“Is that why momma died?” Magnus’ voice was small and wavering as he spoke because he knew already what the answer was.

He still remembered the day his mother died, a day that started like any other. His mother had grabbed her basket to head to the market, kissing him on his forehead and calling him her precious angel before she headed out. Magnus hadn't known that was the last time he would see her alive, the last time he’d see her smile that lit up the room like sunshine breaking through clouds or feel her soft hands stroking his cheek and telling him he was a beautiful gift. He’d watched her walk down the path that led from their house, sunlight glinting off her hair that was dark as ebony and soft as silk, and he often wondered if he’d known something was wrong if only he’d payed more attention. He hadn't, instead he’d run down to the stream behind their home and watched the fish that swam in the clear waters, their scales sparkling like diamonds when they caught the light.

“Yes, I believe it was. Your father knew of the curse but he foolishly believed if he ran far away from this place, that the magic wouldn't reach him. If he denied who he was and hid his gift, it would save your mother. It was a futile wish but desperate people will cling to any hope, however small,” Ragnor said, ignoring the look that Catarina was giving him.

Painful as it was, Magnus couldn't help but replay that day in his mind. How he returned home to find his father, tears in his eyes, as he tore up the floorboards in their house, desperate to find the deathwatch beetle which was ticking away the last seconds of his mother’s life.

“Poppa died of a broken heart,” Magnus whispered, not needing confirmation of what he knew to be true.

When his mother had died, the light had gone out of his father, he’d barely eaten and his skin, which had been once golden and glowing, became sallow and grey. Magnus had tried but he couldn't reach him, bringing him polished stones he found on the riverbank and flowers that grew in the tall grass, but Asmodeus had just looked at him with hollow eyes and smiled tiredly.

One day his father managed to get out of bed and Magnus thought that maybe he was getting better. He had told Magnus to pack his favourite things as they were going on a journey and Magnus had taken his father’s hand, excited as to where they were going.

The last time he’d seen his father had been when he’d dropped to his knees in the red dust that surrounded the orphanage and held him close, whispering in his ear that Magnus needed to be braver than he was and that he was sorry, so very sorry. The monks that ran the orphanage had appeared behind him, their long robes rustling as they walked, and before he knew anything more, they had taken him from his father. Days later he heard that his father had joined his mother and Magnus finally cried.

“Yes, my sweet boy, he did,” Catarina said.

“All because of magic.” In that moment Magnus hated this so called gift, the thing that had taken his childhood so cruelly from him. Yet there was still another part him that, in the midst of all his sorrow, felt the surrounding energy wrap him in its warm embrace, as if promising him it would keep him safe.

“Yes, but Magnus, magic also brought you to us and kept you safe. There is light and dark in everything and nothing is set in stone. We can all change our fate.” Catarina hugged him close and whispered the words of comfort into his hair. “You are special, you are loved and you are safe. Never forget that. Promise me.”

Magnus pulled back from his aunt and looked into her beautiful kind face.

“I promise,” he swore.

“Good. I tell you what, why don't we have some cake and Ragnor and I can show you some of the wonderful things your magic can do?” Catarina smiled wider and Magnus felt the magic in his veins jump with excitement and he knew that was exactly what he wanted to do.

…………

Later that night, as darkness smothered the island and the wind flung raindrops at window panes, Magnus lay back on his bed in the house on the hill, buried under a pile of quilts and blankets, Chairman curled up beside him on the pillow purring softly.

As the townsfolk held their loved ones close and prayed that the storm wouldn't harm them or their families, Magnus thought of all he’d learnt that day. He thought of Tessa Gray building this very house with her bare hands and taming the wild island piece by piece so she and her child could live, he thought of his father running far away and yet not far enough, he thought of the generations before him that had called this place their home, and finally, he thought of his aunt and uncle sleeping in their rooms down the corridor.

He considered all they had told him and smiled gently as he remembered the three of them playing with magic. Of the look of pride on his aunt’s face as he finally lit a candle by just breathing on it and the way it had made his heart leap with happiness. Of the way his uncle had proudly announced that Magnus was indeed talented and a natural warlock.

He thought of his parents and the tragedy that was their love and he wondered if perhaps the magic here would've kept them safe if his father had only stayed inside the very walls he now slept within.

As Magnus listened to the scrabbling of the bats in the eaves above his head and the sound of mice in the walls off to find their food, he mulled over all he’d heard and felt that day, and finally, he made a decision.

As the storm swirled outside, Magnus, safe and warm in his bed, promised himself two things. Firstly, he would never pretend to be something he wasn’t, he would wear his magic proudly, irrespective of what other people thought, because gift or curse, it was a part of him he wouldn't deny. It was a promise he would always keep.

The second thing, well that was another thing entirely. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he swore one more thing to himself with the certainty that only youth can give. Magnus Bane promised himself he would never fall in love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So......hope that was ok...


	3. Ivy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so here we go with another chapter...I'm going to put a trigger warning in here for grief and parental loss - please stay safe...so it does get pretty angsty.
> 
> On the plus side a lot happens that's going to lead to some pretty significant changes in Magnus' life so there's that...

**Ivy - Friendship**

 

Magnus settled into his new life on the island and as the weeks passed, he learned the pattern of the seasons that were so different to those in his old home. As winter moved into spring and the days became longer, he’d watch the crows that nested in the old wizened oak tree that grew outside his window, smiling as he saw their fledglings taking their first tentative flights. He’d laugh as Ragnor complained about the mess they made on the patio and pretended he didn't see his uncle sneaking out food to them when he thought no one was looking.

When summer came, he’d sit for hours in the garden watching the butterflies flitting amongst the brightly coloured blooms, their painted wings so delicate, and yet, so strong. Sometimes he’d lie back on the warm grass and gaze for hours at the clouds that passed over head, the sun beating down on his skin.

With spring and summer, the island changed and the normal population was swollen with tourists visiting from the mainland. Catarina would smile and laugh as she told them of the places they simply must visit and Ragnor would moan about the crowds while hiding his smile beneath a frown. Magnus liked the change of scenery, the people that came in didn't know who he was and would smile at him and stop to chat, not knowing he was different.

As autumn came, the foliage on the trees turned the colour of fire and Magnus laughed to himself as he kicked the fallen leaves around the yard so that Chairman could chase after them. Autumn was a time of bonfires too and the musky smell of smoke filled the air. Catarina would spend the little free time she had cutting back the dying branches in the garden and then Ragnor would take great delight in building a giant bonfire which he would light with a flick of his wrist. Magnus loved those days when Catarina would bake potatoes in the embers, whilst Ragnor found long branches that he and Magnus would push marshmallows onto, toasting them in the flames until they were golden brown, or more often, blackened with soot.

Over time the hurt of losing his parents lessened and the longing for the sounds and smells of his homeland transformed into happy memories of the place he grew up, the way the locals had looked at him with suspicion fading away.

Living with Catarina and Ragnor was better than his wildest dreams, evenings spent laughing and practicing magic, days watching the wildlife that flocked to their home, and Magnus was happy.

There were, of course, hardships and, as was to be expected, the local children were afraid to play with him, their parents having warned them he was dangerous. When he walked down to the local store he would hear the townsfolk whispering behind his back, describing him as ‘exotic’ and ‘foreign’ as well as the more common place references to his otherworldly gifts.

Whilst most of the island’s residents viewed him with suspicion and fear, there were a few exceptions. On his very first day at school the local bully, a pugilistic child called Emil, had gathered a group of children to make it clear to Magnus that he wasn't welcome. Magnus wasn't really afraid, knowing that with a simple flick of his wrist the children would scatter in terror. He knew that if any of them tried to lay a hand on him that it would be a decision they would almost instantly regret and that knowledge gave Magnus the courage to stand firm in the face of their cruel words, determined not to let them see how much they hurt. He wasn't really surprised with how the children were behaving, it was something he had known all his life, but one thing had been a shock.

As the children gathered in a circle around him, taunting him and calling him names, a small red haired girl had pushed her way fearlessly through the crowds and stood by his side.

The girl was the stepdaughter of the local sheriff and had turned to Magnus, a brilliant smile on her face, and introduced herself as Clary, insisting that they should most definitely be friends. Magnus had been lost for words, never having had a friend of a similar age before, and his first thought was that it must be some sort of trick but Clarissa Fray, he would discover, was incapable of artifice. 

When Clary entered his life that day she brought with her a skinny dark haired boy with glasses called Simon and soon the three of them became inseparable. Clary was bull headed and stubborn but had a heart of gold, even if some of her decisions were misguided. She knew what it was like to be new in town and had clearly decided she wouldn't let the town gossips tell her who she should like. Simon was full of energy and talkative, getting over excited by everything and often being bullied for his enthusiastic ways. In his own way, Simon was an outsider on the island, for one, he was the child of a single parent and secondly, he was Jewish in an area that was largely conservative Christian. Simon had an older sister but her age and her pretty eyes made her far more accepted than her geeky little brother.

After that day, the three of them were rarely seen apart, a team against the world and some of Magnus’ happiest memories were of the three of them running wild around the island, playing hide and seek and climbing trees. Sometimes Clary and Simon would be allowed to sleep over at the house-on-the-hill and those were nights when none of them would get much sleep, trading stories until the early hours whilst Chairman played with Clary’s long red hair.

Clary’s parents, Jocelyn and Luke, would often come to visit, spending evenings laughing and joking with his aunt and uncle whilst he and Clary played. Even Simon’s mother, Elaine, would sometimes join them, overcoming her initial fear of the rumours she had heard, to become a regular caller at the house.

Magnus knew that though he had his friends, it wouldn't change everyone’s idea of him, and he was entirely correct,but with his new found friendship, he honestly didn't care. If people wouldn't accept him as he was, he decided, he would go out of his way to accentuate his difference just to annoy them. When he was ten years old, he and Clary raided Catarina’s makeup and Magnus borrowed his aunt’s black kohl, drawing a shaky line around his eyes, determined to enhance one of the many things that made him different.

When his aunt and uncle had found him, instead of chastising him, or worse still, laughing as he had feared, they smiled proudly, Catarina even showing him how to draw liner properly. From then onwards, Magnus would go to school with kohl-lined eyes, enjoying the gasps of shock from his classmates and laughing with Simon at how his teacher, Mrs Henderson, practically had an aneurysm at the sight, and yet, was to afraid to tell him off.

As months turned to years, the pattern of Magnus’ life became unchanging and comforting, until the summer he was twelve. It had started with little things, the way Luke’s smile became more strained and the lines on his forehead more pronounced, whilst her mother Jocelyn lost some of the rosiness in her complexion and dark circles began to bloom under her eyes. As the the weeks passed, Magnus began to realise what was going on as Jocelyn became frailer by the day, as if her very being was being washed away like the sea wearing away the cliffs. Her hair lost its shine and began falling out in clumps and even the brightly coloured head scarves she wore didn't hide the pallor of her skin.

Catarina’s potions, which she made every night, had limited effect, for the cancer that grew inside Jocelyn was too strong  even for magic, and on a sultry evening in mid August, Jocelyn passed away peacefully in her sleep, Clary curled up by her side and Luke holding her hand as tears tracked down his face. It seemed to Magnus that the entire town turned out for her funeral and, for once, put aside their natural fear of him as Clary held onto his and Simon’s hands as if they were the only thing keeping her standing.

Magnus would always remember the way all the light seemed to have gone out of Luke’s eyes and the smile left his lips and he was once again reminded of exactly what love could do to you. 

The night after the funeral, Magnus lay in his bed staring at the beams on his ceiling, when he heard a noise downstairs. By now, he was used to the nocturnal visitors who would journey up to the house, driven by their desperation, and he would largely ignore them. This time, his uncle appeared at his door and told him he was needed downstairs.

As he grabbed his robe and padded down the stairs, his heart was beating out of his chest, afraid for once of what he might find. Rounding the kitchen door, he saw Clary sobbing at the kitchen table, her bright red hair falling about her face and still dressed in her fluffy pajamas where she’d sneaked out of her house.

“Please bring her back. I know you can,” Clary begged Catarina, her eyes glistening with tears, not noticing her friend standing frozen in the doorway.

“Oh Clary, you sweet child, what you’re asking for is the darkest form of magic,” Catarina said calmly, her hand hovering over Clary’s shoulder as if seeking permission to comfort the distraught child.

“But it can be done..” Clary looked up, her eyes red and puffy from the tears that never seemed to stop flowing.

“It wouldn't be your mother, Clary, Jocelyn is gone. Anything that came back would be a dark and unnatural thing that would taint her memory forever.” Ragnor spoke, his arm around Magnus’ shoulder, pulling him with him as he entered the room. “But your mother will never be really gone as long as we remember her.” 

Clary threw her head on the table, her body shaking as she cried and Magnus’ heart broke a little as Ragnor turned to him, crouching down a little to be at the same eye level as him.

“She needs you, Magnus. She needs to know she’s not alone.” Ragnor spoke softly and Magnus nodded his head in understanding. He knew what it was like to lose someone so important in your life, and where he was all alone in his grief until his aunt and uncle found him, he was determined his friend wouldn't suffer through the same loneliness.

Silently he moved over to the table and laid a hand on Clary’s shoulder. The little girl looked up, and seeing who it was, threw herself into his arms, her tears making his pajama top soggy against his shoulder.

After a while, Clary calmed a little and glancing up, saw the concerned faces of Catarina and Ragnor looking down.

“You can stay here tonight, my dear,” Ragnor said calmly. “Catarina will call Luke and tell him where you are.”

Clary nodded tiredly and let herself be led upstairs to Magnus’ room, unwilling to let go of Magnus’ hand. Unbeknownst to him, Magnus’ uncle also phoned Elaine Lewis, knowing that on a night such as this, Clary would need her closest friends around her and, soon enough, Simon had climbed in on Clary’s other side.

The boys patiently held their friend until, at last, Clary’s tears subsided, if only a little.

“I'm sorry..” Clary whispered, her voice frail and small. “I feel as if I'm all alone..”

“But you're not, Clary, you have Luke and Magnus and me and so many people who love you,” Simon insisted and Magnus nodded in agreement. Both boys knew from bitter experience what it was like to lose a parent, Simon’s father having died when he was just six years old.

“I know.” Clary shuffled herself until she was seated, her back propped up against a pillow whilst her hands fidgeted with the patchwork throw. “She was the last of my real family..”

The last words were so softly spoken that the boys could barely hear them, as if Clary herself was ashamed of the way she felt.

Simon sat up sharply, pushing himself onto his knees, his face breaking into his signature grin while he squinted his eyes, not able to see properly without his glasses in the dim light.

Magnus was grateful for his friend’s presence, whilst he himself could comfort Clary, he knew without a doubt that Simon’s talent was making people smile. Wherever the young boy went, he seemed to bring sunshine and warmth with him and Magnus always felt the children that teased his friend so mercilessly were missing out on more than they could possibly know. Magnus turned on his side and propped himself on his elbow as Simon chatted away about a pirate book he’d been reading and how they used to perform a blood oath to bind themselves to each other.

“I mean I know it’s not the same but…” Simon went to fiddle with where his glasses usually were, only to remember he wasn't wearing them and scratch his ear instead.

Clary blinked up at him, her eyes puffy and bloodshot from crying, but Magnus noticed the hint of a smile on her lips for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

“You would do that? For me?” There was a wistful tone to her voice that broke Magnus’ heart and he knew what he needed to do.

Since the day he’d met Simon and Clary, he’d known they were more than friends and there was not a shred of doubt in his mind that they were nothing short of family, the little brother and sister he never had. Without further thought, he summoned a sharp knife from the kitchen, the one Catarina used for chopping herbs for her brews, and turned to his friends. 

“Are you sure?” Magnus hesitated for a second, the knife clutched firmly in his hand. 

A part of it was that he couldn’t quite believe that anyone would really want to bind themselves to him, but there was more to it than that. What if, by sharing his blood, he hurt his friends? What if his magic did something?

He should ask his aunt and uncle, find out if it was safe, but scared of what they might say, and desperate to feel like he belonged, he didn’t.

Clary grabbed the knife out of his hand and, with fire in her eyes, she cut her hand, gasping a little as the sharp blade dug into her flesh.

“I’m sure.” Clary handed the blade back to Magnus, her jaw set in determination as she held her hand out, blood pooling in her palm.

“Let’s do this,” Simon grinned, grabbing the knife himself. Clumsily, he cut his palm and Magnus watched, chewing his lip as his friend tried to swallow his yelp of pain as spots of blood spilt onto Magnus’ white sheets.

At last, it was Magnus’ turn. The knife was sharp and Magnus’ hand shook slightly as he thought about what he was going to do. Looking up, he met his friends’ watchful gazes and it gave him the courage he needed. Without even flinching, he cut his palm.

It wasn’t like you saw in the movies, not easy and straightforward. As they clutched their hands together, it was messy and clumsy and even Clary laughed a little as Simon went pale as he saw the blood on their hands.

Finally, the trio had achieved their goal and, as far as Magnus could tell, nothing bad had happened. He wasn’t sure anything had happened at all.

Magnus had reached for the small pot of balm he always kept in his bedside table. His Aunt Catarina was talented in healing magic and he’d helped her concoct it, taking great pride in how his aunt had thought he was up to helping. The balm was soothing on his skin, healing the wounds on their hands, but as it was designed more for scrapes and bruises, it left a silvery white scar on the palm of Magnus’ hand.

“Thank you,” Clary murmured, half asleep already, exhausted from her tears.

…………

Over the weeks, Clary began to heal, small things at first like her eyes beginning to sparkle again and the smile returning to her lips, as she slowly began to piece her life back together. Many nights she and Simon would stay at the house-on-the-hill, when Clary felt sad or when Luke was working a night shift.

It was a night like so many before, about a month after the funeral, when the moon was full and the air was still and Clary and Simon were once again visiting. They’d spent the evening playing games and eating chocolate cake before crawling into bed to share stories and jokes, the sound of Clary’s laughter filling the air for what felt like the first time in forever.

Before long, both Clary and Simon were fast asleep and it was only Magnus who seemed unable to stop his mind from working, the same thoughts going through his head as they had since Jocelyn had died. 

He tried staring at the cracks on the ceiling, counting them and following them in the hope that it would tire his eyes. While his mind was whirling, it was a futile hope. However hard he tried, he couldn't get the image of Luke out of his head, the man who was never without a smile on his face, standing broken and hollow by Jocelyn’s graveside. He thought about his father, how after his mother passed, he seemed to shrink and waste away, how love was the death of him, and he remembered the promise he had made himself all those years ago. In the dark of the night, with only the creaks of the old house for company, a promise didn't seem enough.

Cautiously he slipped out of bed, the worn floorboards still warm against his bare feet and, moving quietly so as not to wake his friends, he grabbed his notebook and sneaked downstairs, years of experience meaning he could dodge the creaking floorboards without any conscious thought.

The house was silent as he made his way down, only stopping to retrieve Ragnor’s old grimoire and a wooden bowl from the kitchen, before making his way into the conservatory.

There was always something about being surrounded by the plants that Catarina had filled every spare space with that made Magnus feel a deep sense of contentment. Perhaps it was the delicate perfume on the air from the flowers that always seemed to be in bloom all year round or the delicate light that filled the space, a combination of moonlight and the fairy lights that Catarina had decorated it with. Even the cold black tiles against his feet didn't stop the warm glow he felt inside.

In the middle of the room was a tall table, covered with gardening equipment and cluttered with a mismatch of different pots and a light dusting of spilt potting compost. Magnus perched himself on the stool beside the bench. Although still young, Magnus was already tall for his age and, thanks to a recent growth spurt, his long legs nearly reached the ground. With a swipe of his hand, he brushed away the dirt on the table and carefully laid the grimoire down, opening it up to the page he wanted, scribbling down what he needed in his notebook. He felt the magic in his veins jump with excitement as he concentrated on reading the page and he knew he was ready.

Magnus slid off the stool and turned his notebook to a fresh page, chewing his lip in concentration as he neatly wrote the words he needed in perfect flowing script.

_ Amor Versus Numquam Moritur _

Focusing all his being, he continued to write, the words to his spell flowing onto the page as if they had a mind of their own. Finally, he was satisfied and, as he closed his eyes and recited the words to himself, he felt prepared. Taking a deep breath he opened his eyes, all his movements now slow and steady, as if filled with intent.

Everywhere around him there was silence and peace, as if the very ground he walked on was holding its breath as it listened to the words he spoke.

Magnus picked up the wooden bowl, cradling it in his left arm as he moved towards his first port of call.

_ They will be brave and true and will always try to do what’s right. _

Magnus spoke the words with a seriousness that belied his years and it felt as if the universe itself was silently watching. Magnus held his breath as he reached forward and plucked a single white hyacinth, holding it between his thumb and forefinger for a second, adding it to the bowl before moving on.

_ They will have eyes that are neither green nor brown and in the light they will have flecks of gold in them. _

This time it was a single forget-me-not he added to the bowl.

_ They will hum my favourite tune. _

A sprig of lily-of the-valley joined the others.

_ They can flip a pancake in the air and never drop it. _

The air filled with the scent of cherries, exactly like the cherry pies that Catarina would bake, as Magnus plucked a heliotrope flower and placed it in the bowl.

_ They will carry a shield wherever they go. _

A waxy edelweiss, with its petals white as snow, was the next to be picked.

_ They can shoot an arrow and never miss their mark, even with their eyes closed. _

The scent in the air changed again as Magnus plucked a sprig of lavender, its heady aroma filling his senses.

_ While they may not say much, what they do will always be honest. _

Magnus moved gracefully to the collection of herbs and carefully laid a sprig of mint into the bowl, its bright green leaves standing out amongst the paler blooms.

_ They will not know their own worth but they will be beautiful and kind. _

Magnus picked a small violet flower, its shiny petals seeming to smile at him.

_ And when I need them most, they will answer my call, even if they’re miles away. _

Finally, Magnus chose a perfect white rose for purity, a blood red rose for love and desire, and a beautiful rose so pink, it looked like it was blushing. Placing the bowl carefully down, he plucked the petals off the roses and, one by one, added them into its depths, keeping one solitary red petal and pressing it in the pages of his notebook.

As he glanced around the room, a soft breeze seemed to flow, making the flower heads dance softly as if nodding in agreement and, knowing he’d done what he needed to, he turned to leave.

Standing in the doorway, quiet as ghosts, his two best friends in the world, Clary and Simon stood in rapt attention, hands held tightly. Magnus smiled to himself, strangely not surprised to see them there.

“Are you doing magic?” Clary whispered.

Magnus nodded seriously, not wanting to break his concentration just yet.

“Woah..What’s it for?” Simon’s eyes looked huge behind his thick-set glasses.

“It’s a love spell called  _ Amor Versus Numquam Moritur,  _ true love will never die,” Magnus replied as he gently moved past them, the wooden bowl held tightly in his hands, hoping that would be enough to quieten his friends.

Behind him Clary and Simon exchanged a look of confusion.

“But you said you never want to fall in love..” Simon spoke for the pair of them. It was the one thing they all knew to be true. One day, Clary had read a romance in a magazine she’d sneaked from the store and declared loudly that she couldn’t wait to fall in love. Magnus had rolled his eyes. It was that very day that he’d told his friends of his promise, that while love may be for them, he fully intended to never be its victim.

Magnus glanced over his shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I don’t. The person I've asked for, someone that perfect, can't possibly exist, and if they don't, I’ll never have a broken heart,” Magnus said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Simon went to speak but Clary just squeezed his hand and shook her head and he swallowed his words down. Instead, the pair dutifully followed Magnus back up to his room and out onto the wooden balcony outside his window.

As Clary and Simon stood silently, their backs pressed against the wooden boards of the house Magnus stepped forward. The night was balmy and still with barely a cloud in the sky, overhead the moon shone brightly, lighting him in an almost ethereal glow as he held the wooden bowl aloft.

_ Amor Versus Numquam Moritur _

Magnus repeated the words to the night sky and the moon and stars listened and understood. The petals and leaves in the bowl fluttered and danced slowly, lifting up, swirling into the night sky. Only when they’d been swallowed by the clouds did Magnus stop reciting the words, turning to his friends with a serene smile on his lips.

_ And if they don't exist, I’ll never die of a broken heart. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hope you liked it...Im hoping to stick to posting very Saturday but I've got a few other bits to be doing so I promise I'll try my best....


	4. lilac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is later than I planned...I really don't have an excuse.....but I hope you like it.

**Lilac - the joy of youth**

 

Magnus didn't know that the events of that summer would have far reaching effects for the rest of his life. How could he? At his young age, he couldn't truly understand that every decision you make shifts the course of your life, sometimes hardly noticeably, and that sometimes, even if you don't see the ripples that your actions caused until years into the future, you can trace events back to a single moment in time.

Perhaps he noticed that the townsfolk’s attitude to the residents of the house-on-the-hill had mellowed slightly, that occasionally there would be a tentative smile in his direction, but the shift was so subtle that he probably didn’t. Certainly he wouldn't have noticed that people weren't so inclined to gossip about his family, and if they did, it was to comment, with some degree of incredulity, at how Catarina and Ragnor seemed to be helping their beloved Sheriff Luke and his stepdaughter put their lives back together. It wasn’t so much that the townsfolk now miraculously accepted them, not at all, and many still believed that his aunt and uncle had some sinister ulterior motive for helping Luke and Clary, but you can't change an attitude so ingrained in one summer.

As the days became shorter and summer moved into autumn, life seemed to be returning to normal. Luke and Clary still spent a large amount of time at the house-on-the-hill, as if, at times, afraid to return to their own house and face the many memories of Jocelyn that were still there. Magnus didn't mind at all as it meant he got to spend more time with one of his best friends, and there was something comforting about seeing Luke and Ragnor playing chess together in companionable silence, with Cat watching the pair, a soft smile on her face.

Time, as they say, is a great healer and, gradually, Luke and Clary started to get better, but there are some wounds that never really heal, not fully. Magnus knew, as he watched his friend, that there was still a yearning deep down inside of her, a need to know more of where she came from that would never truly disappear. Sometimes, at night, he’d feel a sense of loss that wasn't fully his and know that Clary was struggling still. More was to change than just the seasons.

Whilst Magnus may not have realised the enormity of a blood oath, there was no doubt that Catarina and Ragnor did. When they spotted the scar on his palm they looked at each other with concern in their eyes, hoping they were just being overly concerned. But his aunt and uncle knew the power of blood, and that promises made that way can be stronger than you ever expected.

At first the effects were small, the three children seemingly able to pick up on each other’s moods even if far away, but over time other things came to light, for Magnus had not only shared blood with his friends, but he’d also given each of them a tiny spark of magic too. Simon and Clary, of course, wouldn't know that tiny glimmer wasn't enough to give them any real power but, nonetheless, it changed them.

For Simon, who had always been a musical child, rarely found not humming a tune, the magic flowed into his music. Whilst he had been talented before, now when he played his guitar the world would seem to stop and listen. At times, it was as if even the birds in the trees would silence themselves just to hear his voice. When he wrote a song, the words would flow as naturally as water in a stream and he would dream of music and melodies. In its way, his magic protected him from cruel words and taunts he’d suffered in the past. Whilst he was still looked at with suspicion, not helped by his friendship with Magnus, everyone agreed the boy had the voice of an angel.

Clary threw herself into her art work as a way to heal. Jocelyn had been an artist and Magnus knew that when she was painting, Clary still felt that connection and closeness to her mother that she so longed for. It was entirely to be expected that painting was also an outlet for that shred of magic in her veins. She would spend hours in the old studio in the roof of her house, the same space that was still covered in splashes of paint left behind by her mother. As the paint flowed over the canvas, Clary poured her emotions into every stroke of her brush. Every streak of paint spoke about how she was feeling and what she thought, and that little spark of magic bound them in place. If Clary had been sad when she painted, people would look at her picture and find tears forming in their eyes, if she been happy, they couldn't help but smile. Every one of her pictures seemed to shimmer with life, landscapes so beautiful you felt like you could run inside them, portraits you could hold a conversation with and abstracts so raw and full of emotion, it took your breath away.

As for Magnus, safe in the knowledge that his spell had worked, there was a new lightness to his step. As he grew from child to teenager and his body matured and filled out, he became even more flamboyant and flirtatious. It was as if, because he was certain that his heart was safe, he was finally free to acknowledge the attraction he felt for the pretty boys and girls around him. 

Perhaps the imperceptible softening of the townsfolk’s attitude towards his family helped but, more likely, it was that, with every day that passed, Magnus became more handsome and there were no shortage of people vying for his attention, despite their parents’ warnings.

Catarina, Ragnor and Luke would roll their eyes good naturedly as they talked about the latest teen who had caught Magnus’ eye, whilst Clary would tease him mercilessly and Simon would beg him for dating advice.

And so the years continued, Clary painting away her sorrow, Simon singing in the park and Magnus leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him.

Sometimes, Cat and Ragnor would talk late into the night, worried for their young charge who had so much love to give, and yet, seemed determined to not let anyone close. At the same time they understood, they knew that, for the three of them, the risks of love were far too high and so they said nothing.

When Magnus was fifteen, he seemed to finally settle for a while and began dating a sweet girl called Dorothea. The pair had met in her uncle’s antique shop on the main street, a place Magnus often frequented in search of the vintage jewelry he loved to wear. Often times, Ragnor would join him, striking up a firm friendship with the shop owner. For months it was relatively peaceful, winter afternoons spent exploring the shop’s many treasures whilst Ragnor and Dorothea’s uncle, George, discussed history and literature, oblivious to the two teens stealing kisses in the dark corners.

Catarina would sigh happily as she watched Magnus and Dorothea dancing in the garden while Simon played his guitar and Clary sketched. She hoped that, finally, Magnus had allowed himself to love. By the springtime, it became clear that that hope was ill-founded.

One evening in early March, Magnus stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him so hard it made the windows rattle and, without a word to his aunt or uncle, shut himself in his room. The look that Catarina and Ragnor shared spoke volumes and with worried thoughts racing her through her mind, his aunt trudged up the rickety staircase to find out what was wrong.

As she peered cautiously around the door, Magnus didn't even notice her. Instead he stayed lying on his back gently stroking Chairman’s fur as if the little cat, that barely seemed to age, was his port in a storm.

Just as she was about to enter the room, Magnus began to speak to the little cat and Catarina softly stepped back, torn between not wanting to interrupt the moment and not wanting to eavesdrop either.

“I know you liked her Chairman, I did too…” Magnus spoke seriously and Chairman tilted his head as if listening intently. “But I just can't..”

Catarina’s heart broke for the sadness in his voice as Chairman gently headbutted him as if asking him to continue.

“She told me she loved me..” Magnus whispered sadly as he rolled onto his side, burying his face in Chairman’s soft fur.

Catarina held her breath as she watched, before turning softly, her heart heavy in her chest as she crept quietly down the stairs. She wanted nothing more than to reassure Magnus, to tell him he was allowed to have that, but she knew better. Whether she admitted it or not, the curse hung heavily over all their heads and kind words couldn't change that. Catarina remembered, as a young girl, pouring over endless books in a desperate search to find a cure for her family's plight and coming up with nothing. It felt like a lifetime ago that she herself had given up any hope of romance and thrown herself into her work, so she could hardly blame her nephew for doing the same. 

……………

The summer Magnus was seventeen was unusually warm and tourists swarmed to the island, taking advantage of the sea breezes and hot summer sun to escape the oppressive heat of the city. In June, a band of musicians came to visit the island and the park was filled with townsfolk enjoying picnics as music played in the background.

For Magnus and his friends, it was as close to perfection as they could imagine. The musicians soon heard of Simon’s talent and before long the teenager was spending hours jamming with them as hot summer days turned into balmy evenings. 

Naturally, where Simon went, Magnus and Clary weren't far behind, and it was that summer that Magnus met Imasu Morales.

Imasu played the traditional charango so beautifully, it rivalled even Simon, and Magnus was captivated by his dark looks and smouldering eyes. The pair began a torrid affair that was to last the summer, with Magnus learning more about passion in those few months than he ever thought possible.

Catarina and Ragnor watched on, never commenting but secretly pleased to see Magnus so happy. Perhaps in the dark of night, when Magnus spent yet another evening away from home, they prayed that the curse would pass their nephew by, that he at least could have what they could not.

As summer drifted into autumn, the crowds started to thin and soon enough it was time for the musicians to bid their farewell. 

As they packed into their cramped campervan, the whole town seemed to turn out to wave goodbye. After hugging Clary and Simon goodbye, Imasu hung back a little.

Before he left, he pulled Magnus into a deep passionate kiss before stepping back, and with a soft shaking of his head, turning and leaving, not looking back even once.

As the van disappeared into the distance, Ragnor approached his nephew, who’d been staring at it as it left.

“You know, I'm sure with just a little persuasion, he would've stayed,” he murmured. 

“He wanted more than I could give,” Magnus shrugged, the smile on his face trying to mask the tears in his eyes.

Ragnor said no more as they walked silently back to the house-on-the-hill.

…………

Life, like the seasons, is ever changing, and that summer marked another turning point for Magnus. It wasn't even just that he’d learnt of the pleasures that could be found in the embrace of another and he now knew for sure that his attraction wasn't restricted by gender. That summer marked the end of his childhood in ways he didn't know at the time.

It was September when Simon and his mother Elaine had an unexpected visitor. As it turned out, Simon’s gift for music couldn't stay the island’s secret forever and one of the videos of him singing with the visiting musicians had reached the offices of one of the top music companies. 

At first, Simon was cautious, the talk of spreading his music to the world sounding too good to be true, but over time he began to dream. The music exec was persistent, insisting that talent such as his was rare and that there was a good living to be made for singer/songwriters out there. He left the teen clutching a business card firmly in his hand. Naturally, Simon ran to the house-on-the-hill, needing his closest friends to advise him on what to do.

It was deep in the night, when the rest of the house was asleep, that Magnus came to a decision. The three teens had been talking for hours and, whilst he and Clary wanted to hold onto Simon for as long as they could, they knew it was time for their friend to spread his wings.

“Give me your necklace..” Magnus grinned, his eyes twinkling as he reached out his hand towards Simon.

“Okay…” Simon scrunched his brows in a mixture of confusion and concern. Magnus waggled his eyebrows and, with a sigh of resignation, Simon unclasped the Star of David pendant he always wore and handed it over to his friend.

“Do you trust me?” Magnus asked seriously and Simon nodded his head, not even an ounce of doubt in his mind. “C’mon then.”

Magnus bounced out of bed, pendant clutched firmly in his hands as he grabbed his notebook and led his friends quietly downstairs.

The night was so similar to that time long ago when his friends had found him casting his first proper spell, but this time Magnus’ goal was entirely different, as the trio stepped into the conservatory.

As Magnus positioned himself by the now ancient wooden bench, his friends hurried off to get what he asked them, Clary returning with a wooden bowl and Simon, a pestle and mortar.

Carefully, Magnus placed the pendant in the bowl before picking up the pestle and mortar and moving towards Catarina’s collection of herbs.

 

An otherworldly quiet settled over the room as Magnus picked the leaves he wanted, taking care to not damage the plants. The only sound was Magnus’ voice as he explained what he was choosing, quiet and yet seeming to fill every inch of the space.

“Basil to ward against negative energies, bergamot for success, fennel for courage, spearmint for protection and vervain for inner calm,” Magnus whispered more to himself than anything else. For a second, he paused before plucking one more leaf.

“Lemon Verbena...Ragnor always says it gives everything an extra boost.” Magnus grinned over his shoulder at his friends.

“Magnus is this…?” Simon looked at him with wide eyes, a hesitant smile on his lips.

“A protection spell? Yes.” Magnus grinned proudly back before fully turning to face his friend. “Look Simon, you need to do this, you know you do.”

Clary nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with excitement, which was hardly surprising. Over the years it was clear that if there was adventure to be had, or more likely trouble, it would be the petite redhead leading the way.

Simon said nothing for once, settling for gazing between his friends, his lips slightly parted.

“This way you don't have to worry..” Magnus’ smile faded a little as still Simon didn't speak and he scrunched his brow slightly in confusion. Was it possible he’d read things wrong? Perhaps this wasn't what his friend wanted, after all. Maybe it was wrong to attach magic to such a sacred religious symbol? Had he offended his friend? The thoughts rattled through his brain a mile a minute. “I mean, if that’s what you..”

Magnus didn't get a chance to finish the sentence before Simon practically launched himself at his friends pulling them into a huge bear hug, making Magnus nearly drop the pestle and mortar.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Magnus mumbled into Simon’s shoulder, as his friend hugged him tightly.

“Oh my god, yes! I mean, you’d do this for me..you have no idea….my music...I can do this and ….” Simon was practically tripping over his words in his excitement as he finally released his friends from his vice-like grip.

“You know, I think I preferred the silence..” Magnus teased, rolling his eyes good naturedly as Clary giggled.

“Yeah..cool...so..” Simon shrugged, his face glowing with happiness as Clary nudged him playfully in the side.

Magnus raised an eyebrow as he placed the pestle and mortar down on the bench and Simon bit his lip, as if trying to stop himself from speaking. 

“Ok then. Let's do this..together.” It seemed as if Magnus’ voice itself had changed, carrying an authority beyond his years, and Clary and Simon listened instinctively.

Magnus began to grind the herbs, chanting his wish as magic sparked from his fingers.

_ Et cavete ab omni malum tueri _

Clary and Simon exchanged a look before joining in, reading the words that Magnus had so carefully written in his notebook as they joined their hands on the pestle. Magnus smiled serenely at the pair.

The air seemed charged as each of them scooped up the paste they’d made and smeared it on the pendant before Magnus clicked his fingers. Simon gasped as the herbs disappeared into the metal as if they’d never been there, the only hint to what they’d done was the slight iridescent green sheen left behind when the pendant caught the light.

 

“So now you can follow your dreams and you don't need to worry.” Magnus smiled as he fixed the pendant around his friends neck.

………

It was of no surprise that Simon’s star ascended faster than any rocket and Magnus and Clary watched with pride as their friend achieved all he had dreamed of and more. They missed their friend, of course, but Simon was determined to stay in touch, constantly phoning and texting and sending postcards from his many travels that Magnus and Clary would pour over for hours.

“Good god, where is the boy now..?” Ragnor would grumble as yet another brightly coloured card arrived, pretending to be irritated when, clearly, he was not.

“Tokyo..” Magnus replied with a proud smile before ducking out of the door to find Clary.

Whilst Simon’s life was full of adventures, life on the island was as unchanging as the house-on-the-hill and, for the first time, Magnus began to feel restless. The place he had called home for ten years, the place filled with happy memories of childhood adventures, began to feel more like a gilded cage than the safe haven it had before.

When Emil Pangbourne and his best friend, Samuel Blackwell, teased him, Magnus began to snap back instead of ignoring their barbed words, as he had before. Even the pretty boys and girls desperate for his attention began to feel dull and uninteresting. Clary felt it too.

Late at night, his aunt and uncle would sit and talk about the change they saw in their nephew, worried for what the future would bring.

“He’ll leave soon..” Catarina would worry, as she sipped camomile tea.

“Perhaps he needs to..” Ragnor replied in resignation.

Magnus was 19 years old when Clary, who had just turned 18, told him she’d been accepted to Brooklyn Academy of Arts and, even though he was pleased for his friend, it was tinged with sadness. Magnus’ childhood was over.

Shortly after Clary left, Magnus came to a decision, and it was with a heavy heart that he told Catarina and Ragnor that he planned to move to New York. Whilst he’d excelled at school, his quick mind and even faster wit had made the work set for him was as easy as breathing, he had no urge to go to college. No, Magnus Bane was determined to make his own way in life, carve his own path.

With his aunt and uncle’s reassurances that he would always have a home on the island ringing in his ears, Magnus set off on his next adventure.

 

 


	5. willow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I think I should add a warning in here...serious angst towards the end of this chapter and side character death and subsequent grief...

**Willow - Sadness and Grief**

 

New York was a revelation to Magnus. The city was vibrant and colourful and, for a young man as charming and handsome as him, it was like being a kid in a candy shop. Much as he’d wanted to contact Clary as soon as he arrived, Magnus was determined to make it on his own and so, instead, he found himself a small apartment in a run down part of Brooklyn.

Although the apartment as little more than one room, with flaking paint on the wall and patches of damp around the window frame, it was just his and Magnus loved it. The walls were paper thin and at night time he could hear almost every word the couple next door were invariably arguing about, but he didn't care. The city embraced him like an old friend, welcoming him to every corner and there was rarely a night he was alone.

He found work at a local bar and on those nights he wasn't working, he took full advantage of New York’s many clubs and bars. Money was tight but Magnus was happy. No one in the city knew who he was, no one judged him for the family he was born into and, whilst he missed his aunt and uncle, he finally felt like he could relax. Although he vowed to try and blend in as much as possible, there were some things Magnus couldn't quite leave behind and he covered every available shelf with herbs and flowers, filling the space with the scent of the home he’d known for so long.

Of course, it didn't take much time for word to spread about the new bartender in a run down dive bar in Brooklyn who made cocktails so good it was if they were made by god himself. In less than six months, Magnus found himself working in one of the most trendy bars in the city, the sort frequented by the rich and famous. It was there that his life took another turn.

If there was one thing that Magnus had learnt since he’d been in the city, it was that people seemed to have no issue with offloading their problems on whoever was behind the bar. If he’d been so inclined he probably would've had enough blackmail material to pay his way for years. Instead, Magnus found himself listening patiently to the woes of those who, to any onlooker, seemed like they had it all.

One night in early February, when the city was still swathed in a heavy blanket of snow and the wind was so cold it felt like it was seeping into your very bones, one of Magnus’ favourite regulars came into the bar, a pretty blonde woman called Stella Woods. As a main cast member in a broadway show, Magnus had got used to her popping in to relax after an evening performance, but tonight her normal ebullient personality seemed dimmed. As he listened patiently, she told him of her worries, that thanks to the poor weather she was losing her voice and her worries for continuing in her role. For as long as Magnus had been in the city, he had avoided using his magic but such a thing can only be neglected for so long before the power inside him was screaming to be let out.

Perhaps that’s why he suggested what he did, or maybe it was because he really liked Stella. Sometimes the reasons don’t really matter so much as the action you take, and so it was that, without any real conscious thought of the consequences, he found himself offering to help. There were, of course, strict stipulations he put in place, Magnus was no fool. Having made it clear that no one else was to know of their arrangement, Magnus set to work the next day, brewing a potion.

From there, word inevitably spread, despite his efforts to keep things quiet and soon Magnus had a select clientele asking for his services. For Magnus, it was exciting, finally his magic wasn't something people were afraid of. The people who came to him didn't come in the middle of the night, desperate not to be seen. He genuinely felt he was helping people realise their dreams and the fact that he was making a huge amount of money in the process could only be a bonus. In barely six months, Magnus had made enough with his sideline to move out of his ramshackle apartment and into a beautiful loft slap bang in the middle of Brooklyn. Six months after that, he had enough to buy a run down bar called the Hunter’s Moon.

It was almost inevitable that the bar soon became the hotspot to be seen at in Brooklyn and the days when it had been just Clary and her friends from art college seemed like a distant memory. It almost seemed that everything Magnus touched turned to gold, as if New York had been waiting for him to transform it with his own brand of magic.

By the time he was 22, Magnus had extended his portfolio to include several bars and eventually even opened a nightclub called Pandemonium, transforming an old warehouse into a club frequented by the anyone who was anyone in the city. There was barely a night when Magnus wasn't in demand in some part of town and wherever he went, he was surrounded by a hoard of hangers on.

To the outside world Magnus Bane looked as if he led a charmed life but being surrounded by people can sometimes be the loneliest thing in the world. It was a lesson that Magnus learnt with time. 

At first, life was good, Clary would often visit the loft and she and Magnus would talk for hours about the way their lives seemed to be turning out so well. Whenever Simon was in town, he’d join them, dodging the paparazzi to sit and eat pizza and watch cheesy movies with his best friends and, for once, feel like a normal person and not a star.

Simon was there for the opening of Pandemonium and Magnus knew his friend’s mega stardom had helped pull in the huge crowds they’d had that first night. The club was the talk of the town after that and the constant stream of models and actors ensured it was always busy. There was rarely a night when there weren't a crowd of beautiful people vying for his attention. Magnus took advantage of it all.

When Clary finished her college course, she was offered a place at London’s Royal College of Art, an offer Magnus knew she couldn't refuse. His last tie to his old life had left and Magnus felt adrift. Clary would write long letters to him full of emotion, a habit she had formed following the advice of a therapist after the death of her mother, and Simon would send postcards but it wasn’t the same, the miles between them only feeding his loneliness. Initially he had thrown himself head first into his hedonistic lifestyle, wearing his flamboyant style and personality as an armour, but that could only last so long. The reality was he longed for something real, something deeper and, most of all, the one thing he could never truly have. He spent an increasing amount of time at Pandemonium, losing himself in the crowds and the loud music and drowning his feelings in alcohol and the arms of his many admirers. However much he fed his excesses, he couldn't stave off the hollow feeling that seemed to grow daily.

Perhaps that was the reason for what happened next, perhaps it was just fate, but sometimes life takes unexpected turns and Magnus knew the second that the woman in the red dress walked into Pandemonium that things were about to change.

Camille Belcourt was like a forest fire, beautiful, destructive and impossible to control. Magnus was engulfed. His heart, which had been longing for something more all his life, reached out to her like a lifeline and Magnus fell. For once, he didn't stop himself. The reason, whether he liked to admit it or not, was simple. He knew deep inside that Camille would never love him.

The relationship was tumultuous, passion filled and unpredictable. When things got hard, Camille would run, often for weeks at a time, and Magnus had little doubt it was into the arms of other men. He convinced himself it was a price worth paying and that, whilst things were far from perfect, it was the best he could hope for, so he held on with everything he had.

The day things changed was one he’d never forget. Camille had been away longer than usual and when he returned to the loft he hadn't expected to find her there, let alone in the state she was in. Camille was never one to show her emotions but there she was, slumped on the sofa, tears tracking down her cheeks and Magnus knew instinctively what was wrong, his magic reaching out to her in a way it had never done before. He didn't even need to ask if the child was his, he felt it in his very core.

If Magnus had thought he had felt love before, he realised the day the twins were born that everything he’d previously felt was just a pale imitation, a shadow of the real thing. As he looked at his newborn sons, he knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep them safe.

As the twins, Rafael, named after his uncle’s lost love, and Max grew, Magnus’ relationship with Camille began to shift. She would still disappear for weeks, leaving Magnus to deal with two exuberant little boys, but when she returned she seemed happier, more content. She’d come back from her trips laden with toys for the boys, laughing as they gazed in wonder at the snow globes she would always bring them back. The change was so gradual that Magnus didn't see it, didn't notice that Camille’s absences were becoming shorter and less frequent, that some of her sharp edges had begun to wear away. Magnus didn't realise until it was far too late.

Max and Rafael were five years old the day everything changed. Camille had left on one of her increasingly infrequent trips and it had seemed like any other morning. He’d got up early, corralled the boys, no mean feat in itself, and somehow managed to get them out of the house in time to get them to kindergarten. The second he walked into the loft he knew that time had run out.

Ordinarily the loft was strangely quiet once the boys had left, Max in particular having more energy than should be natural, but that day it wasn't. Magnus had barely closed the door when he heard the ticking, loud and persistent, echoing around the space. It was the sound that haunted his memories, the sound that signalled the end. 

The reality that Magnus had been ignoring for so long came crashing down, but even then he couldn't quite believe it was real. It was only when he saw the small brown body scuttle across the floor and disappear between a crack in the floorboards that he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. By then it was far too late.

As he stood frozen to the spot, the incessant ticking of the death watch beetle ringing in his ears, the memories came thick and fast. His father tearing up the floorboard in a futile attempt to stop his fate. Camille dancing with the boys just last week. The sadness in his aunt and uncle’s voice when they told him of the curse. He’d thought he’d been so careful, what a fool he was.

How long Magnus stood there lost in memories and regret, he couldn't say, but it was only when the intercom buzzed loudly that he fought his way back to reality. The ticking was gone, the silence now deafening.

 

The police officers were kind and sympathetic. An accident they said, no one’s fault, she wouldn't have known. Magnus listened to it all numbly. The man who was known for his wit and charm had nothing to say. They sent a squad car to collect the boys and stay with them whilst they took him to the station to identify the body. It was only when he saw Camille’s lifeless body that Magnus finally broke. Camille, who had been so vibrant in life, was now silent and pale, lying on a cold metal morgue table.

Magnus sleep walked through the next week, consoling the boys as they cried themselves to sleep, trying to ignore the way the snowglobes that lined the shelves of their bedroom seemed to glare at him in accusation. He deserved the pain, deserved the anguish, because this was his fault. 

Somehow, he managed to sign all the paperwork and get one of his many assistants to organise the funeral. Being so busy was a temporary reprieve, something to focus his attention on rather than thinking of anything else.

The day of the funeral was warm and clear but Magnus only noticed the boys holding his hands. It was the only thing that kept him afloat. The wake was held in Pandemonium and everything around him reminded him of that first night Camille had walked in, how she’d walked straight up to him and told him that she was someone he really wanted to know. The memory stung more than he thought possible. The place was packed with her various acquaintances, many seeming to want to be seen rather than actually caring that Camille was dead. Magnus was alone in a sea of mock sympathy and he knew he deserved no better. Had he wanted, he could’ve called Clary or Simon and they would've been there in a heartbeat, as would Catarina and Ragnor. He hadn't told any of them, not wanting their kind words. This pain was his alone and he needed to suffer. He only had to glance at the puffy-eyed faces of his boys to know that, the children that would grow up without their mother because of him.

Somehow, Magnus made it through. At the end of the night, an older woman introduced herself as Camille’s foster mom. He’d known that Camille had bounced around the system in her youth but hadn't been aware she was still in touch with any of her old homes. The woman was kind, far kinder than he deserved, and hugged him close.

“I know my Camille wasn't easy to love so, thank you,” she whispered in his ear, before pulling back and looking from him to the two boys, who were now sleeping in one of the booths at the side of the dancefloor. When she turned back, she smiled softly. “She loved you and the boys very much, so much it scared her. Every time it got too much she’d run back to me. I thought you should know.”

Magnus barely remained standing as the woman walked away.

Eventually he managed to get the boys home and tuck them in their beds, although he had no recollection of having done so, which left him alone in the loft surrounded by memories of Camille. Her presence was everywhere, so real he felt he could touch it. Her clothes were still in the wardrobe, her makeup in the bathroom, even the chip on the kitchen wall, where in one of their more epic fights she’d thrown a plate that barely missed his head. It all reminded him of everything Camille had been. He felt like he was drowning in the memory of the woman he’d killed as surely as if he’d been driving the car that swerved. 

 

Magnus paced the loft restlessly, unable to let his eyes rest anywhere too long before being assailed with images of Camille, until he finally found his way to the boys’ room. They’d climbed into the same bed, fast asleep and holding each other tightly, exactly as they had when they were babies. Selfishly, despite it all, he couldn't truly regret what had happened. He knew it was wrong but without Camille he never would've had those two beautiful boys in his life.

That night he didn't sleep, even drowning himself in whiskey didn't come close to taking the pain away and at 6 am he came to a decision. For the first time in a week he turned his phone on and, ignoring the multiple texts and messages from his friends and family, he ordered a taxi for an hour’s time. 

The boys grumbled when he woke them up and complained still more when he helped them to pack their things. Perhaps they’d hate him, Magnus thought, but he couldn't be here anymore, more importantly, he couldn't be there for them. He knew what he had to do.

Max had cried all the way to the airport, begging him to take them home. Rafael, always the quieter of the pair, just stared wistfully out of the window as the city passed them by. Even the excitement of the plane ride and the boat trip didn't cheer them up. It was only when they finally arrived at the-house-on-the-hill that the boys began to smile tentatively and Magnus knew they felt the house reaching out to them. It was the moment he finally felt like he’d done the right thing. 

Magnus should’ve been surprised to see Catarina and Ragnor waiting patiently on the porch, Chairman Meow sitting between them as if he hadn't aged a day, but somehow it was exactly what he had expected. 

The tides of his life had drawn him back to the island and Magnus no longer had the strength to fight it.

 


	6. Anemone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...its been a while I know, but I'm hoping to gradually finish this...anyway after a long delay here's the next chapter.

**Anenome - Healing & Fragility**

 

As soon as they arrived, Catarina swept up the boys, winning them over immediately with talk of chocolate cake for breakfast and the promise of adventures exploring the house. Ragnor didn't say a word at first, simply stepping forwards and placing his arm around Magnus’ shoulders and guiding him indoors.

“Your room is ready..” Ragnor finally spoke and Magnus nodded in response. His uncle, it seemed, knew exactly what to say but, then again, he’d been in Magnus’ position himself.

The next week passed in a blur and with the knowledge that the boys were being looked after, Magnus retreated into himself, not even able to get out of bed. His sleeping patterns were erratic, only helped by the belladonna Catarina gave him to try and help him get at least  _ some _ rest. The boys would try and rouse him, bouncing in with stories of their adventures and new discoveries. Occasionally Magnus would bundle them both under the covers with him, holding them tight, only to be overwhelmed with guilt.

Catarina and Ragnor would bring him food, which more often than not he would ignore, neither of them speaking but their warm quiet presence giving him a small amount of comfort. At night, his aunt and uncle would sit and talk, trying to work out a way to help their nephew.

“He needs time,” Ragnor would say, knowing full well that that was the only cure for what was ailing Magnus.

Sadly, Catarina would agree.

Simon was the first of his friends to arrive, appearing long after the twins had gone to bed and making his way up to Magnus’ room.

“Hey..” For once in his life, Simon said very little.

“Simon…” Magnus sighed from beneath the covers. For weeks he’d had his phone switched off but, despite his lack of communication, he’d somehow known his friends would arrive at some point. “You didn't have to…”

“Shut up and shift over..” Simon said, kicking off his trainers and ducking under the covers with his friend.

Little more than an hour later, Clary joined them.

Neither Clary or Simon said anything, only holding Magnus tightly as he cried and waiting patiently until he was ready to speak.

“I mean, I know things weren't perfect. We weren't even good for each other,” Magnus said hours later when the tears finally dried up. “But there were good times too, you know.”

His friends listened without comment whilst Magnus talked, letting out everything that he’d felt for Camille, good and bad. Magnus was more than grateful, knowing full well that neither of them had really liked Camille. She had seen Clary as a threat and gone out of her way to make Simon feel uncomfortable by referring to him as her ‘little caramel’. At no point did either of them try and tell him to not feel guilty.

“I just don't know what to do now..” Magnus sighed, propping himself up on the pillows and hugging his knees to his chest.

“Well the way I see it, you don't have to decide straight away, right?” Simon positioned himself next to Magnus, his presence alone feeling warm and comforting.

Magnus thought about what his friend had said for a second. There was no great need to return to New York straight away, he’d left his many businesses in the capable hands of his second-in-command, Lily Chen, and there was no doubt that she’d keep everything ticking over with her usual level of efficiency.

“So how about you two? Any plans?” Magnus asked, needing the distraction, the thought of the future being too huge to contemplate at the moment.

Simon spoke first, talking about his upcoming tour, making Magnus realise he’d left the last minute preparations just to check  _ he _ was OK.

“Then I'm gonna take a break. I mean, six months on the road..” Simon rolled his eyes.

“Hoards of adoring fans getting too much?” Magnus teased, smiling for the first time in what felt like months.

“Nah..you know it’s all the groupies..” Clary laughed, as Simon groaned and face planted into the bed.

“You have no idea.” Simon said, his voice muffled in the blankets.

“Now this I really want to hear..” There was no doubt that talking with his childhood friends was helping Magnus more than they could ever know.

Magnus actually found himself laughing as Simon recounted the many ways his obsessive fans tried to get near to him, everything from sending underwear to creepily explicit fan mail. 

“I mean, to be honest, I’ll be glad when it’s all over,” Simon groaned. “I think I’m just gonna come back to the island, you know, recharge..”

Suddenly the thought of staying on the island and just hanging out with one of his best friends seemed more than appealing to Magnus. 

The conversation meandered on, taking many twists and turns, as is often the way with old friends, until finally turning back to Clary. Magnus knew from her many letters that whilst Clary was happy in London, it didn't truly feel like home to her and, in all likelihood, probably never would. It was, Magnus suspected, in her nature to be constantly searching but in his heart of hearts he couldn't help hoping his friend would find her peace one day.

“Ok, I have news..” Clary bit her lip anxiously as she looked at her friends and Magnus was suddenly filled with a niggling sense of dread. “I'm coming back to the US.”

Magnus shook his head to clear his thoughts. His current state of mind was clearly leading him into worst case scenarios and, ignoring his sense of foreboding, he joined Simon in hugging their friend.

“When? Why?” Simon babbled. “I mean, this is awesome..”

“Ok, Ok.” Clary held her hands up in surrender before explaining what was going on. 

Magnus knew that after her mother had died, Clary was desperate to find out about the other side of her family. He remembered the epic argument that had ensued with Luke, who had insisted that some things were best left alone. Of course, Clary hadn't listened. 

As it turned out, it had been a series of chance encounters that had led Clary to finding out the truth and, after that, she had been tenacious about digging deeper.

“Clary, are you sure this is a good idea..?” Magnus couldn't keep the concern out of his voice, the niggling feeling back again as Clary talked about her father’s side of the family.

“I mean, didn't Luke warn you…” Simon added in. 

“It’s fine. I promise.” Clary glanced at the concerned faces of her friends before ploughing on. “I'm not going to do anything stupid, and anyway, as it turns out, Luke was entirely right about my Dad.”

As Clary explained what she’d found out in London, Magnus’ worries began to dissipate, if only a little. It appeared that after Jocelyn left Clary’s father, a man called Valentine Morgenstern, he had moved to London. Valentine, by all accounts, was the worst kind of human being, not only heavily involved in organised crime but also having an unhealthy interest in Alt-right politics. It was with some degree of relief that Magnus learnt that, finally, Valentine’s past had caught up with him and he’d ended up dying in prison ten years ago.

“Ok, so he’s dead. That’s good right...I mean, is it? I …” Simon said, trying to find the right thing to say and only digging himself in deeper. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Clary said, patting Simon on the arm, when she noticed his brows were still furrowed in concern. “Honestly, it is. Thing is, I found out something else..I have a brother.”

There was no mistaking the look of excitement in Clary’s face as she recounted what she’d learnt, how her brother, Jonathan, had changed his name after her father’s arrest and moved to the US. Magnus had to admit his friend had been thorough, to say the least, but still, her sibling was proving elusive. She managed to work out he’d changed his name to Sebastian Verlac and spent his time travelling around the country, largely living from selling art to tourists and yet seemingly determined to keep a low profile.

“I found this..” Clary spun her phone screen round to show a painting she’d found that was attributed to her brother. There was no mistaking the similarities to Clary and Jocelyn’s work, although nowhere near as accomplished, the subjects and composition showing an almost childlike obsession with the wild west. 

“So, what, you’re gonna try and find him?” Simon asked and Clary nodded firmly. Magnus knew better than to warn her off, a task that would be pointless as she’d just ignore him.

"Well, just be careful, okay?” Magnus said, knowing that Clary’s impulsive ways were always prone to getting her in trouble.

“Ok, well I think what we need right now is a movie..” Simon, as ever, knew when to change the topic of conversation and the heaviness that had descended lifted again, like sunshine through storm clouds. “I'm gonna have to disappear early before my Mom finds out I was here and my tour manager realises I've escaped, so… Princess Bride?”

It was almost like old times as the three of them settled down to watch a film they’d seen a thousand times, the familiarity giving Magnus the comfort he needed. 

When the morning sun began to peek through the curtains, Simon had to leave and Clary decided to leave with him, not wanting to risk Luke finding out about her plan.

“Remember Magnus, if you need us, we’ll be here in a heartbeat,” Clary had assured him, while Simon nodded his head enthusiastically.

“I will...I just...I don't know where to go from here…” Magnus finally voiced the thought that had been floating around his head.

“Well that’s easy. You’re Magnus freaking Bane. You get yourself out of bed, have a damn shower and clean your teeth, ‘cos no offence, but your breath stinks….” Clary stood, one hand on her hip, as if admonishing a child. “And you look after those beautiful boys of yours. Anything after that, well it’s part of the adventure.”

………..

It was a slow process but, over time, Magnus started to get back to being himself. He still had days when the dark clouds would overcome him and it was a struggle doing even everyday things but as the months passed by, they became less frequent. 

In September the boys started school, a thing that Max in particular complained about constantly. As was entirely to be expected, the local children viewed their new arrivals with more than a degree of suspicion but largely kept out of their way. 

If Magnus had thought that it was difficult being a child in school, he soon realised that being a parent was as bad in it’s own way. Certain parents, his old nemesis, Emil Pangbourne, being one, ran the PTA with a rod of iron. Magnus still remembered the first time he’d arrived for the monthly phone tree meeting, supposedly a way of setting up a contact system but more like a popularity contest. Granted, he hadn't helped himself by turning up in his most flamboyant outfit and making an entrance that was dramatic, even by his standards. He’d heard the low rumble of gossip as he’d walked to the back of the room and couldn't resist turning around with a flourish.

“That’s right, people. I'm back, ” he’d said, bowing dramatically. “So hold on to your spouses..”

Call him petty but their shocked expressions were the best thing that had happened to him in months. Of course, they didn't know there was no way on earth Magnus would touch anyone who was in any way attached.

As the months rolled by, Magnus felt himself less and less inclined to return to the city and when, on a trip downtown he found an empty store on the main street overlooking the harbour that was up for sale, Magnus couldn't resist. Whilst it’d been nice to take some time to recuperate, Magnus was an active person and he needed something to keep him busy. 

Over the winter months Magnus threw himself into making a myriad of different cosmetics for his new enterprise, everything from sandalwood shampoo to marshmallow hand cream, and it gave him more pleasure than he’d thought possible. The boys were also thriving under their new regime, loving the time they spent with Ragnor and Cat. 

When they’d moved back to the house-on-the-hill, Magnus had stipulated that there would be no magic for the boys, no filling their heads with what he referred to as ‘nonsense.’ He had no doubt that no one had listened to him and on more than one occasion he’d found the boys huddled in the kitchen with his aunt and uncle. One time, he’d overheard Rafael asking about what Magnus had been like as a boy, whether he’d been good at magic, and he found himself smiling, despite himself. As he’d stepped into the room, the boys at least had looked guilty but Ragnor had told him, his face a picture of innocence, that they’d simply been making toast. Magnus didn't miss the shimmer of green magic as bread popped out of the toaster exactly on cue.

The shop opened in the spring, the perfect time to be ready for the tourist season. Magnus hadn't expected to be busy, what with his reputation with the locals, but found out to his surprise that business was booming. He’d had to get Simon’s mother, Elaine, in to help and a young woman called Maia, who Luke had taken under his wing. The boys would walk to the shop on their way home from school and pull faces at him through the windows, a site that never failed to make him smile.

It wasn't always easy though, particularly for Max and Rafael, and Magnus still remembered the day he’d seen a group of school kids taunting the boys outside the shop. He had, of course, run out to intervene but hadn't managed to stop Max from pointing a finger at Samuel Blackwell’s son.

“I hope you get chicken pox,” Max had yelled and the children had fallen so silent you could hear a pin drop, closely followed by a herd of anxious parents descending and ushering them away, muttering under their breath about Magnus’ family.

Max had cried when Magnus had told him that he needed to be more careful with what he said. It wasn't a game, he’d told the little boy, that words have consequences, and Max’s lip had trembled, which damn near broke Magnus’ heart. Before he’d had the chance to say more,  Rafael had bundled Max away but Magnus had still overheard Max complaining that his papa didn't get it. How he didn't understand how Magnus could have all that power and not use it.

Simon would still send his postcards, which was always a high point, especially as now every one would end with a countdown to when he’d be coming home. Clary, meanwhile, had managed to track down her elusive brother and had taken off travelling with him. She frequently sent long letters telling him all about her travels and how her brother, though intense, was full of fascinating stories. In return, Magnus would always write back, never sure if his letters would reach her before she moved on.

Although life was getting better, some nights were still tough, and it was one such night that, unbeknownst to Magnus, signalled the start of a great change. It was unseasonably warm that evening, considering it was early April, and Magnus couldn't sleep, a sense of unease creeping into his bones, not helped by the full moon overhead being surrounded by a ring. A sign that trouble was on its way. As he sat at his desk, bedroom window open wide, he pulled out a piece of paper and began to write to Clary, knowing that always made him feel better. This time as he wrote, the words seemed to flow out onto the page, as if they had a mind of their own.

_ My Dearest Biscuit, _

_ I was hoping to write to tell you how well things are going here and, in most ways, that would indeed be true. Simon is due to arrive in just a few days and I am greatly looking forward to having my old friend back and hope that, perhaps, you may be able to join us. _

_ I'm sorry, but it seems this evening I'm prone to being melancholy, like it’s in the air around me. Outside my window the moon tonight is full and bright but all of that is marred by the red ring around it. Blood on the moon, Ragnor calls it, a sign of trouble to come but nonetheless, the air is warm and the crickets still sing.  _

_ As for me, I’m gradually getting back to being a semblance of who I once was but it’s just, sometimes, I still feel an emptiness that seems impossible to fill. It is as if, inside, I am so hollow that if someone were to touch me, the sound as their fingertips connected with my skin would echo so loudly, it would give me away entirely. _

_ Although I still try to let go of the hope for something more, there are moments when I look into the eyes of my beautiful boys and I long to give them the world, to keep them safe from anything that would hurt them. I want so desperately for them to have what I cannot and I worry for them, for their future and their dreams and, selfishly, I think of all the things I still hope for myself. _

_ I yearn for someone who will see past the veneer that I have created for myself, foolish though that is. Of someone who will see me, not something to be feared, not something to admire, just me. I dream of a person, man or woman, who fits into the empty spaces of my life, and I, in theirs. The missing piece that makes me feel whole, complete in a way I've never known. I pray that somewhere out there is a love that will hold back even time itself and, however hard I try, I can’t stop feeling that somehow, against all the odds, it might be possible.   _

_ Then again, perhaps I’ve had my happiness, such that it was, and as I look into the night sky I see nothing but that moon mocking me, reminding me that hope can be a dangerous thing. Because there is no-one out there, no-one waiting, only me and the ring around the moon. _

_ Stay safe my friend and know that I always think of you. _

_ Yours, _

_ Magnus. _

Magnus stared at the letter before deciding to seal it up, afraid he would change his mind. Reassuring himself that, in all likelihood, it wouldn't even reach his friend with the way she moved around so much at the moment. Magnus carefully wrote the address on the envelope, sealing it with wax.

The air was heavy as Magnus made his way downstairs and out onto the porch and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. It was only after he’d dropped the letter in the mailbox and begun to make his way back to the house, that the phone began to ring.

Without even thinking, Magnus broke into a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah, a cliffhanger - I would say Im sorry but Im blatantly not ;-)


	7. Tansy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so sorry in advance but things might get a bit well angsty here....

**Tansy - hostile thoughts**

 

Magnus was a man of action, impulsive and fast moving, so it wasn’t a surprise that the taxi ride from the airport was so utterly torturous for him. He was so close now, he could practically taste it and yet, still so far away. The air felt heavy around him as if warning of an upcoming storm and throughout it all that damned moon looked down, taunting him.

Perhaps if he’d had time to think, he would’ve been able to formulate a proper plan, rather than just go rushing headlong into the situation, but thought wasn't a luxury he had. Instead, with every second that passed, the events of the last few hours recycled in his mind, everything blurring and merging until he wasn’t sure what was real anymore. A few things remained crystal clear as if burnt into his memory. His frantic dash back into the house with the insistent sound of the phone ringing in his ears.The look on Catarina’s face as she dashed down the stairs, bundled up in her fluffy blue robe.

“It’s Clary,” she’d said. Magnus had already known.

Magnus balled his hands into fists and glared out the taxi window as if, by sheer force of will, he could make the traffic on the streets disappear.

However hard he tried, he couldn’t get the sound of Clary’s tearful voice out of his head.  _ “I’m scared. Can you come and get me?” _

Before he’d known it, he’d been heading for the airport.

Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it hurt, reaching out with his magic to try and get some sense of how Clary was doing. All he got back was a mix of fear and anger. It didn't help calm him in the slightest. He wished he could just freeze time, stop it in its tracks so that every second that ticked away didn't fill him with a constant nagging worry as to whether he’d get there in time, but the world kept turning and Magnus was powerless to stop it. Time continued its journey onwards, its route untroubled by wishes or hopes.

His fingers twitched as he fiddled with his phone. No new messages, only a text from Ragnor telling him the boys were fine and they were all on their way to the equinox celebrations. Magnus had hoped that his aunt and uncle would've been able to stay home but it had become evident that that wasn't going to happen with Ragnor insisting they couldn't get out of the spring celebration due to the fact that they’d helped organise it. On the plus side, he’d remembered how much fun those nights could be and it was some small consolation to know that the boys would thoroughly enjoy themselves.

After what felt like eons, the cab pulled to a stop in the forecourt of a grimy looking motel and Magnus jumped out in seconds.

“Hey pal,” the cab driver shouted after him and Magnus spun round.

“Can you wait?” Hastily, he shoved some money into the driver’s hand, in all likelihood way too much for the fare.

“Five minutes then I'm outta here.” The driver scrunched his nose in disgust as he looked around. It was the best Magnus could hope for under the circumstances.

The forecourt was quiet, everything seeming to have shut down for the night and it took Magnus hammering his fist frantically on the plexiglass window of reception to rouse a very bored looking man to point him in the right direction.

The stench of mildew and neglect surrounded him as Magnus sprinted up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time in his haste to get to his friend. He barely even noticed the peeling paint and stained carpets, all his attention on the door that was ajar halfway down the corridor. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stormed down the corridor, the feel of the small vial of belladonna he always kept in there, a gift from Catarina to help calm his nerves, giving him comfort.

Without thinking, he barged into the room and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, the only light coming from the reflection of a flashing neon sign through the window. 

At first, he didn't see Clary, only the cheap furniture that seems to be thrown around the room and the scattering of broken glass. 

“Magnus?” Clary’s voice was small and full of an anxiety he didn't  normally associate with his friend. 

Turning towards the direction of the sound, he saw Clary crouching in a darkened corner, her red hair catching the light. It was only when she stood and moved towards him that he saw the black eye that was starting to bloom. 

“Come on, let's get your things.” Although he wanted to know what’d happened, Magnus knew his priority was getting his friend out of there and so he focused on grabbing a bag and starting to stuff her clothes into it.

As they started to pack he could see the relief sinking in and Clary started to talk, blurting out everything that happened in a breathless stream of words. How things had been going well and she’d been having fun and then her brother, Sebastian, had started to get clingy and paranoid. How his drinking had increased and with it his anger. Still Clary had persisted, hoping that she could talk sense into him until finally, the mood swings had become too much.

“I mean, over a donut…” Clary hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and followed Magnus out of the room, arms gesticulating wildly. “It’s just so stupid. The guy behind the counter was trying to explain they didn't have what he wanted but Jonathon wouldn't have it. I tried to help but then he punched me, the bastard…”

Magnus clenched his jaw as they walked, resisting every urge to go after Sebastian. Instead he tried to focus on what Clary needed and, seeing her shiver slightly as the cold night air hit her skin, handed over his jacket. 

As they stepped out into the courtyard, Clary froze, and Magnus glanced around frantically to see what had spooked her.

“Blood on the moon,” Clary gasped, her eyes fixed on the moon hanging ominously overhead. “Oh god, oh god..”

“Clary, it’s fine..” Magnus pleaded, trying to get her to move and yet reluctant to touch her after what she’d been through.

“No, no, no….” Clary mumbled under her breath. “It’s a bad omen, Ragnor said..”

“Yes, and Ragnor says a lot of things that aren't true…”

Clary looked at him wide eyed before blinking a little and seeming to come back to herself. 

Somehow Magnus managed to usher her towards the cab, which was thankfully still waiting, before Clary froze to the spot once more.

“My mom’s necklace..” Clary grabbed at her throat before diving into her bag and searching through it with increasing desperation. “It’s not here. I need it…”

Before Magnus had time to process, Clary was sprinting across the deserted car park, heading towards a dilapidated-looking saloon car that had probably once been brown but was now more rust and dents.

With a sigh, Magnus grabbed the bag that Clary had thrown to the ground and followed her, just in time to see her wrench open the door and begin fiddling with a chain wrapped around the rearview mirror.

What happened next was so fast that Magnus barely had time to react. One minute Clary was there, the next he heard her scream and disappear into the car. 

Seconds later, Magnus was by the car. It was seconds too slow. By the time he reached there, Jonathan Morgenstern already had Clary bundled into the back seat and was holding a gun firmly to her temple.

“You must be Magnus. My sister talks about you a lot. Too much…” Jonathon’s voice was slightly slurred, which Magnus assumed was due to the half empty bottle of tequila propped up against his thigh. 

He supposed that Jonathon could be considered good looking, sharp cheekbones, blue eyes and perfect teeth but the effect was ruined by the manic smile and dishevelled clothing. Jonathan Morgenstern looked every inch a mad man.

“But perhaps you can be of some use..” Jonathon waved the gun in Magnus’ direction. “Drive..”

………….

There had been a second before Magnus made his decision that he wondered if he could perhaps use his magic to take out Jonathan, but it was too much of a risk. Instead he opted to play along, at least for now, until he had a better opportunity.

As he clenched his hands on the steering wheel, Jonathan rambled on and all he could see was the wide eyed look on Clary’s face in the rearview mirror. Everything he said seemed to crystalise Magnus’ opinion of the man, a nonsensical diatribe about coming back to the US, finding his roots and family.

“My father always said family was everything.” Jonathan leaned forward to talk to Magnus, one arm resting on the passenger seat back, pausing every now and again to drink tequila straight out of the bottle. From what he’d heard of Clary’s biological father, it struck Magnus that the apple really hadn't fallen far from the tree when it came to her brother. 

“Clary here is my sister, not yours  Magnus… mine…” He handed the bottle back to Clary who began to speak, only to be silenced by Jonathan holding a finger to her lips. 

“Now since being back, I’ve learnt a lot of things..” He turned his attention back to Magnus who tried not to shudder under his intense stare. “For example, did you know in the wild west ownership was very important.”

He reached into his top pocket and retrieved a lighter, flicking the flame off and on.

“There was no law worth talking about back then, you know, no invoices and receipts. So do you know how you proved something was yours? Well, do you Magnus?” 

Magnus gritted his teeth and shook his head tersely. Jonathan smiled and flicked the flame back on, holding it over the ornate ring on his left hand. The silver on the ring reflected the orange glow of the flame and it seemed to give it a more sinister overtone, as if the simple piece of jewellery had a demonic power all of its own. The embossed M on the top of the ring seemed to glow.

“See, stealing was commonplace and to protect your property you had to brand it. Mark it as yours. People would still try and steal your property but however hard they tried, they couldn't get the brand off and in the end that would be their downfall.” Jonathan ran the flame over the ring, seemingly oblivious to the heat, perhaps even enjoying it. “I think my sister needs to learn who she belongs to.” 

Magnus caught a flurry of activity out of the corner of his eye and turning his head saw Jonathon grab Clary’s leg, bringing the red hot ring closer and closer to her exposed skin.

Magnus didn't think. He grabbed his arm, ignoring the horns from the traffic as the car swerved all over the freeway. It was enough to get him to let go of Clary.

“Hey, watch the damn road..” Jonathon growled, and it was worth the vice-like grip he had on his arm, Magnus thought, to get his attention off Clary.

“Just give me a goddamn drink..” Magnus shook his arm free and turned his attention back to the arm, suppressing his shudder as Sebastian laughed and handed the bottle over. “You’re crazy. People aren't property. Hell, family aren't property. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He took a hefty swig, just to give him some time to try and come up with a plan. As he balanced the bottle between his thighs and screwed the cap back on one handed, he came up with the solution. Why he hadn’t thought about it before, he didn't know but now it seemed so obvious, the belladonna in his pocket. If he could get it in the tequila, the rate Jonathon was drinking the stuff, it would knock him out long enough for them to get away. There was, of course, one major problem, it was in the pocket of the jacket Clary was currently wearing.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw his friend slumped against the back seat, a look of desperation in her eyes. Focusing all his energy, Magnus willed her to look at him, desperately hiding the look of relief when their eyes met. He’d never tried this before but Cat had assured him that their magical link was strong enough, so in his mind he screamed out two words, belladonna, pocket. Clary’s eyes widened in surprise before reaching into the pockets of the jacket and nodding almost imperceptibly. Now all he had to do was keep Sebastian’s attention on him. As it turned out, it was simpler than he thought.

When he looked back to his side, he saw Jonathon resting his chin on his forearm which was lying across the back of the seat.

“You know, I've never really seen the appeal of Asian men before now,” he smiled and Magnus felt sick to his stomach, “but you’re a feisty one. I like that.”

Magnus couldn't find anything to say, too busy fighting back the taste of bile at the back of his throat. 

“I think I’ll keep you around.” Jonathon cocked his head to one side and ran a finger lightly down Magnus’ arm. “Just think Magnus, you can keep both me and my sister happy.”

Magnus glanced up and caught Clary opening the bottle and pouring the belladonna into it. 

“Gee thanks..” Magnus muttered under his breath, he knew he needed to keep him looking at him but he was dammed if he was going to play along too much. Besides, he doubted Jonathan would believe him if he played too nice.

“Oh come now, I can persuade you..” Jonathan laughed, his rapid mood changes entirely in keeping with his erratic behaviour. “I’ve been told I'm very charming, you know. Clary even said so..”

Magnus snorted in derision before checking the rearview mirror to see Clary putting the small vial back in her pocket.

“You don't believe me?” There was a slight touch of irritation in his voice now but Magnus knew he and Clary were in the clear. All he needed was for Jonathan to have a drink.

“No. I don’t. Now if you don't mind, you wanted me to concentrate on the road..” Magnus snapped, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“I’ll win you round..” Jonathon replied, his words full of confidence, and Magnus could see he clearly believed everything he said. 

He  sat back and wrapped his arm around Clary, pulling her close, whilst reaching and grabbing the bottle with the other hand.

“See sis, we’re going to have a proper family. I think that deserves a drink.” 

…………

Magnus tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. It had been half an hour since Jonathan had drunk the belladonna-laced tequila and, apart from getting more drunk he showed no signs of being even close to passing out. Currently, the man in question was standing at the side of the road, swinging the car keys around his index finger as he peed and singing loudly.

“Why hasn't it worked yet?” Clary asked, a tremor in her voice.

“I don't know..” Magnus glanced at the man who was still standing up, albeit swaying a little. “Are you sure you put enough in?”

“I put in plenty but you know I didn't have a measuring cup, so…” Clary snapped back, before taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Sorry.”

Before Magnus had a chance to respond, Jonathan reappeared by the car door.

“ _ Maybe I didn't treat you quite as good as I should’ve,” _ he sang, staring intently at Clary as he climbed into the back seat and grabbed her hand. “ _ You were always on my mind...you were always on my mind…” _

Clary backed herself up as far as she could and the action made him frown in disapproval.

“You know, it’s true. As soon as I heard I had a sister, I had to find you..had to know you. I think even before then I knew, I felt you out there. We’re connected, our blood is so strong..” Jonathan cradled her head in his hands and stared intently at her. “You can't leave me Clary, I can't let you..”

“I won't ..” Clary practically whimpered.

“I don't believe you..” In a split second, the anger was back and he moved his hands down to grab Clary by the throat. “Everyone leaves me, you can't leave..I won't allow it. I’d rather you were dead.”

Clary began to choke as his grip tightened and he pushed her back into the seat.

“You’ll never leave.” Jonathan was shaking Clary by the throat and, without thinking, Magnus dived into the back seat, landing practically on top of him, pulling him back and hitting out at him with all his strength.

“Magnus..” Clary choked out.

“Get off her..” Magnus gripped with all his strength as Jonathan fought back.

With the adrenaline rushing through his veins, Magnus barely even noticed the moment when Jonathan went limp and collapsed forward. It was only when Clary shouted that he snapped back to reality.

“Magnus stop, he’s out.” 

For a split second, Magnus relaxed as he started to move back to the driver’s seat. The calm wasn't to last. 

As Clary tried to dislodge her brother, the gravity of the situation became clear. Jonathon slumped heavily but it wasn't that that made her almost drop him, it was the shriek that came from her lips.

Magnus helped roll Sebastian over, only to be greeted with his blank unseeing eyes, his pale skin now more a bluish gray. Jonathan Morgenstern was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so I hope that was ok - I'm trying something out of my normal comfort zone and its pretty new for me so I'd love to know what you think.
> 
> Thank you for reading this far 
> 
> Tigs xox


End file.
